


Down a Dark Path

by yoyoma1123



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Canon Compliant, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Eventual Neville Longbottom/Original Female Character(s), Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Being an Idiot, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Love Triangles, Not A Fix-It, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, OFC has anger issues, Pansy Parkinson is a Good Friend, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Unhealthy Relationships, draco gets DEPRESSED, eventual gay pansy, everyone is bad at expressing themselves, i don't know if the cursed child will even conflict with anything in this fic, i just want everyone to know i don't like it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 14:26:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16431146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoyoma1123/pseuds/yoyoma1123
Summary: “You know I’ve always liked you, Frances,” Draco said with a mischievous expression.Frances Tacet smiled, ready to play whatever game he had decided upon. “And you’ve always been my favorite snob, Draco.”Either he was determined not to be knocked of course by her jabs, or he rather liked being called a snob, because he gave no indication that she had said anything rude to him. In fact, a broad, sly smile pulled up the corners of his mouth even more.---Muggleborn Slytherin AU where Draco learns to deal with the consequences of his actions much earlier.





	1. Chapter One

 

Frances Tacet was never one to want people to notice her when she walked in a room. As a muggleborn in Slytherin, she had an issue with achieving that. It’s not that all Slytherin’s were particularly concerned with blood status, it was just that the mean ones were.

The night the Sorting Hat had shouted out her house in front of a crowded hall, she found herself in the dimly lit, plushly furnished common room, wandering around. She had been looking through a few books that were laying around the room, gazing up time to time at the lake creatures floating by the windows, when she heard an obnoxiously loud voice ring out from the fireside.

“I can’t believe that Potter would choose to hang out with that Weasley rat, I mean he’s as good as a mudblood really,” he paused, thinking, “Do you think he knows who my family is? I mean if he’s been with bloody muggles all this time, maybe he doesn’t really know the importance of good breeding.”

Frances turned around casually, pretending to leaf through the book in her hand. The boy, who seemed unnaturally blond to Frances, continued, “Then again, any reasonable wizard should know the hallmarks of good blood.” He adjusted the lapel on his robes and asked, “Wouldn’t you say so, Crabbe?”

Crabbe nodded dumbly, as if he was a sentence behind what his friend was going on about.

She snapped the book shut, immediately regretting the volume of her action, as the three boys turned to see where the noise was coming from. She suddenly realized that with no one else in the common room, it seemed very much like she had been eavesdropping on the trio. 

“How long have you been here?” the blond boy demanded to her. He leaned back haughtily in his chair as Frances approached the pair of couches in front of the fire.

“A while,” she answered in a low voice.

He raised his eyebrow, “Well you’re quiet, aren’t you?”

“Usually.”

“So, I suppose you agree with us.”

Suddenly Frances felt very exposed, standing in front of the three of them, certainly waiting to be judged. She suppressed her voice from shaking, “Agree with you about what?”

Goyle snorted, “I think she’s dim, Draco. Do you agree that any respectable wizard can recognize someone from a good family?”

“I don’t really know, I’m a muggleborn so I’d expect not.”

“A mudblood? How’d you get in here then, I thought the door didn’t let your kind in.” Draco and his friends chuckled meanly and looked to her to see what she would do next. Frances got the feeling they half expected her to cry or yell, but some part of her brain had shut down. Although she knew that mudblood was a slur of the highest caliber to them, as the word racketed around her brain it struck no nerves. Instead her mouth spoke independently of her mind, asking, “Are there not people like me in this house?”

“I’d say it’s pretty rare, the Sorting Hat rarely makes mistakes so disastrous. Don’t worry though, I’m sure if you ask Dumbledore nicely he’ll let you join another house. He has a soft spot for filth.” Again, Draco laughed.

Frances wished she knew a spell for invisibility or one to wind back time. She wished that she hadn’t entered into a world that seemed so opposed to her. She figured that they wouldn’t teach magic like that for a few years yet, so she settled for quietly exiting the room to the snickers of the boys.

She found classes the next day to be a delight. Although transfiguration was demanding and impossible for her, she couldn’t help but admiring the stern but instructive Professor McGonagall. She failed to produce a rat out of a goblet, but when McGonagall came around to look at what everyone had done, she’d said to Frances, “Don’t worry, dear. You’ll have more chances at it.”

Frances appreciated the affirmation, but she was sure it came as a result of the near constant tormenting she received from Draco as she attempted to make any change to her goblet. Much to her dismay, she’d come in late and found the only open seat to be next to the blond bastard. The only good thing was that the Potter and Weasley characters that Draco had been complaining about the previous night were in the class as well, and they were much more the object of Draco’s ire than her.

Frances had resolved after her first interaction with Draco, that she was going to remain polite and unaffected by him as long as she could manage it. With any luck, he’d just forget about her.

Unfortunately for Frances, she came to realize that nothing she did would help her fade from the sight of Draco, whose family and history she learned about from the overheard conversations of her fellow first years.

In her few interactions with Harry Potter and his friends, she understood that the hatred they received from Draco was unearned. She also found that the girl, Hermione, with big teeth and frizzy hair, was also a muggleborn. Frances had again been sitting in the common room, reading over her charms notes, when Draco and his cronies had come in complaining about the “beaverish mudblood who couldn’t keep her mouth shut.”

Frances thought she was safe in the darkest corner of the common room, she had said darkened her wand the moment she heard Draco’s characteristically loud voice from the hallway of the dungeon. Unfortunately, she was always noticed by Draco.

“What do you think of her, Frances?” He nearly shouted to her.

“I don’t really know her,” replied she.

He nodded approvingly, “Well that’s just as well. The best thing I can say about you, Frances, is that you’re not half so annoying as her.”

Frances returned her gaze to her work, relighting her wand. “High praise, Malfoy. It means so much.” Her voice, dripping with sarcasm, caused Draco to snort.

“Getting funny, are we?”

“I’ve been having a laugh for a while now, glad you’ve caught on.”

He didn’t say anything to her after this, but she knew that she’d won a glimmer of respect from that interaction.

She’d come to realize that her decision to be unfazed was the best route to his tolerance. After several potions classes with him, Frances knew that being invisible to him was not an option. She quickly proved to be the best in her class, outperforming even Draco, who also seemed to have a natural aptitude for the art.

The first month she had been partnered with Parvarti Patil, a Gryffindor, who was thrilled to do very little each time they were tasked with brewing a potion. Professor Snape would walk around, delightfully sparing them from the insults he lobbed at every other group. Over the month of September, Frances became good acquaintances with Parvarti as they watched Draco become steadily angered by Crabbe’s complete ineptitude at Potions.

One night Frances sat in the common room late at night, warming herself by the fire when Draco came bounding down from the dormitories. He immediately identified her, and took a seat in the dark green velvet couch across from her, smiling at her charmingly.

“You know I’ve always liked you, Frances,” he said with a smile.

She returned a smile, ready to play whatever game he had decided upon. “And you’ve always been my favorite snob, Draco.” Either he was determined not to be knocked off course by her jabs, or he rather liked being called a snob, because he gave no indication that she had said anything rude to him.

“Well, as your favorite, I’m wondering if you’d like to be potions partners with me.”

“What, and leave poor Pavarti to the wolves? Or, to be more specific, Crabbe? The girl hasn’t learn to brew a single potion so far, I can’t imagine that she’d do to well with him.”

“Crabbe’s easy to boss around, as soon as she figures that out she’ll do fine. Besides, imagine how well we’d do together. We’re the two best students in the class, and I’m reasonably sure Snape doesn’t have it out for either of us.”

“Pavarti will be enraged, and I’m not sure anything will be in it for me.”

“How about some money?”

“The conversion rate from pounds to galleons is great, so no thank you. Other offers?”

Draco searched his mind for something, but aside from money, he had no other motivators.

“How about this, you can’t call me a mudblood anymore. Nor can you belittle me in front of your friends. Or anyone for that matter!”

He seemed upset with this offer, “Well that seems a touch unfair, who else will I have to call a mudblood?”

“I’m sure you can find plenty, friend. But this is my offer.”

He mulled it over for a second, before he reached forward to offer his hand in agreement. It was ice cold as Frances shook it.

She had made the right choice, agreeing to be Draco’s partner, although Parvarti was as peeved as expected. But without the option of making fun of her, Draco seemed less like he considered her a mudblood, and more like he considered her a Slytherin.

The rest of her first year passed much more pleasantly than the first half had. Somehow she found herself spending a truly disappointing amount of time with him. They often studied together during the day, and found themselves sitting near each other in the common room at night. She even talked quite a bit to Crabbe and Goyle, although she preferred the former to the latter. Goyle cared far to much about blood status to really see Frances as his equal, although he never called her a mudblood, since Draco would’ve punished him for such a breach. Crabbe was pretty dim, but after helping him with his work, he was very nice to her. It seemed that he had become friends with Draco by accident of fate, not by aligning of beliefs, and she was pretty sure he was a half-blood too.

She was often present for Draco’s rants about Harry Potter, and though she never spoke out to defend him, she maintained a private belief that some of this hatred came from jealousy. Frances just listened though, and Draco kept talking. Sometimes, when Crabbe and Goyle had gone to bed, he asked about her family. He seemed bemused by muggles, if not slightly repulsed.

When Frances had gone home for the summer, she sometimes received owls from him, mostly unpacking the events with Potter and Voldemort at the end of the year, sometimes about what Draco had been doing that summer, and occasionally about what Frances was doing.

It pained her to admit it, but she was always excited to receive his correspondence by his enormous, black owl. She was even more embarrassed by the fact that he was almost certainly her closest friend at the school.

She received mail from Crabbe infrequently, riddled with spelling errors, but generally nice. He was very curious as to what muggleborns entertained themselves with during the summer. Frances told him about her family’s holiday to the Canary Islands during early July, and he responded that there was actually a thriving wizard colony on one of the islands and even gave her good instructions on how to get there.

 

The only other correspondence Frances had received that summer was from Neville Longbottom, whom she’d met in Herbology class. His writing was pleasant and congenial, always making sure to ask for updates on what she was doing during the summer. He told her all the ways his grandmum was irking him, but he always reminded Frances after his rants how much he loved the old woman for putting up with him.

On the first day of class that year he’d come up to her and stood near her nervously. For a moment Frances had thought the boy hadn’t noticed her, but to her surprise, he turned to her and smiled, big buck teeth catching the light.

“I’m Neville, uh, Longbottom,” he said, sticking out his hand. She shook it, surprised that he had seen her.

“Frances Tacet, nice to meet you,” she replied, quietly hoping that no one else could hear her. It was the day after she’d met Draco, and she had no wish to get his attention again. When Professor Sprout announced that their places around the giant greenhouse table would be theirs for the rest of the year, Frances was relieved. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were nearly at the other end of the greenhouse.

“I don’t reckon you know anything about Herbology?” Frances asked Neville.

He nodded, smiling, “I do actually! I help my grandmum in our garden a lot. She likes to grow a lot of magical plants.”

“Well I’m happy to hear it, because I have no clue what to expect.”

They passed every day of that year companionably. Neville was a nervous boy, but an ultimately good-hearted one. One afternoon in the library around Christmas time, he confessed to her that his grandmother had long thought he was a squib, and had wept with joy when his letter came.

The only conflict that had happened between Frances and Draco past October, was because of Neville, or rather Draco picking on Neville. They were sitting on the lawn by the lake, watching as the squid breached and warmed its red body in the weak Scottish sun, which had only started to feel warm again in May.

Neville was worrying himself over his Transfiguration final. “I swear, I’ll never make it past first year. I’ve hardly transfigured even one thing! Do you think McGonagall will feel bad for me enough to pass me?”

Frances leaned back on the red and yellow plaid blanket that he had brought from the Gryffindor common room. “I don’t know, Neville. I think I’m just as scared as you, I’ve done nearly as terrible. We can at least take comfort in the fact that where we’ve failed to do anything in her classes, Seamus has blown up nearly everything she’s set down in front of him.”

Neville chuckled and Frances knew that it had made him feel at least a little better. “Maybe I should ask for help from Herm-”

“Ah, well if it isn’t the least magical student in this entire school! Are you preparing to be sent home to your weeping grandmum? I expect studying won’t be of any use to you.”

Draco and his cronies chuckled as they walked down the lawn towards the pair, coming to stand between the lake and them. Crabbe looked apologetically at her.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” Frances said. One look at Neville’s face told her he wasn’t going to retaliate.

Draco laughed even louder, but this laugh was cold and empty. “Don’t tell me what to do, mudblood.”

Neville cringed next to her, even though the words weren’t directed at him. This time that Draco called her this, her nerves were not numbed. Instead they were lava-hot with rage. _How dare he break his promise, how dare he be so cruel to her friend, who had never been cruel to anyone._ It hurt even more since she didn’t know what had happened to inspire him to be so cruel to her. Frances stood, hardly intimidating in her pleated skirt and jumper, but she raised her wand anyway. Her holly wand, 14 inches long with a dragon heartstring core. A wand that Ollivander had assured would be incredibly powerful when called upon. She wished she knew better hexes, but instead she could only think of the one used by a Weasley twin on a particularly belligerent Slytherin in their year.

“Melofors!” she shouted, an orange jet of twisting light emerging from the tip of her wand. Crabbe and Goyle dove out of the way, as Draco’s head turned into a great pumpkin. He immediately fell over, drawn down by the weight of his head. Neville let out a big guffaw of laughter. “You two should get him to the infirmary,” Frances advised, sitting back down on the blanket with Neville before Draco was dragged up the hill unceremoniously .

“That was amazing, Frances. But I feel bad, you’re going to have to see him in your common room after this, not exactly a pleasant studying environment.”

“No fun for him, I’m going to tear him a new one for acting like that to you.”

Neville leaned back on his arms, staring at the squid again, who still bathed like nothing had just gone down on the banks. “You know what?”

“What?”

“I’d reckon you just transfigured something for the first time.”

Frances snapped her head towards him and grew a big, open mouthed smile, “Neville, sometimes I really think you’re a genius.”

And he was, because in the common room early the next morning, Draco had stumbled across the threshold in the way that only someone whose head had been a pumpkin until several minutes ago could’ve.

He sat down on the couch opposite her, clearly angry. He was quiet for some time, until finally he began, “I can’t believe you’d make a fool out of me like that. You’re lucky I’m not going to write to my father about it. He’d have you expelled in a heartbeat if I weren’t so kind.”

When Frances answered, she spoke low and grave, “You’re not kind, Draco. Kind people don’t walk up to people minding their own business and say what you said today. Kind people don’t break promises like you did.”

“I would be careful if I were you, Frances. Or next year will be very hard for you.”

“Oh, Draco. I need you to understand something,” she leaned forward on the couch, looking deep into his petulant eyes, “I don’t care if you call me a mudblood next year, or try to make my life a living hell. I don’t care if your father tries to get me expelled, I don’t care if he succeeds. If I am lost to this world forever, but I leave knowing that I stuck up for people like Neville, for myself, then I leave happily.” In all of this, her voice barely exceeded a whisper in volume.

The expression in his eyes softened. “I don’t want you to be expelled.” Frances leaned back in the couch, drawing her legs in. Draco continued, “Crabbe and Goyle are all right, but they’re not much for conversation, and Pansy just agrees to everything I say, which gets old. But I don’t want my head turned into a pumpkin in front of them. I just want to be friends like we were earlier this year.”

“I want to be friends like that again, too. But you can’t be so unkind to Neville, or to me when I tell you you’re being a prat.” He nodded in agreement, although a little like he doubted his own ability to do so. Frances continued, “I need you to do something else, I need you to apologize for calling me a mudblood.” Draco began to speak, but she cut him off, “You don’t need to do it now, you don’t even need to do it in person. But when you mean it, because I know you will, I want you to tell me.”

He nodded soberly, and she got up and walked towards her dormitory without another word.

The week before she was supposed to go back for her second year, she received post carried by Draco’s stately owl. It said

_I’m sorry for calling you a mudblood, and I’m sorry_

_f_ _or insulting Neville, he didn’t deserve it_

_either. I hope you will forgive me, but I_

_understand a few smacks on the head are_

_probably in order. I’m excited to see you at school!_

_Draco_

_P.S Do you want any old Slytherin jumpers and scarves? My mum_

_is trying to get me to take them all and I’m sure I can’t wear_

_all of them in one year._

Frances caught herself rereading the letter several times in the next week, even in her parent’s car to King’s Cross. She had written back immediately about wanting the clothing, she had very little in Slytherin colors. Crabbe and Draco had to listen to her begging before Quidditch matches all year for a green scarf or hat. Her parents once again pushed her through the brick wall and onto Platform 9¾, marvelling at the small piece of magic they could experience.

“Crazy! Just bloody unbelievable,” her dad remarked, saying almost the same thing he had a year ago. Frances wasn’t really listening though, she instead shot a long glance down the platform, hoping to see someone she recognized. Of course the Weasley family was easily identifiable, the mother squeezing the cheeks of her daughter affectionately and pulling her into a deep hug, all the while telling off the twins.

Frances was so absorbed looking at the Weasleys she didn’t even notice Neville waving at her. “Um, Frances, I think someone’s trying to get your attention,” her mom said, nodding her head towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of many parts, certainly extended past the events of the Battle of Hogwarts. Sorry for any spelling or grammar errors, this was not beta-ed. Future chapters will be much more eventful, but a lot of this is exposition for later events. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter Two

“Oh, Neville!” she shouted, running down the platform to hug him. If she had been listening, she would have heard her dad say, “Have you ever heard her yell that loud before?”

In the embrace with her friend, she saw Draco stroll leisurely onto the platform with his mother and father, all three of them platinum blond and stern. Frances especially did not like the look of his father, and knew that if she went over there to greet Draco she would not be well received. His hateful beliefs had to come from someone. She met his eyes and gave him a little smile, the corner of his mouth perked up as a greeting, but that was all. 

Neville pulled away from her as his grandmother said in an austere voice, “You must be Frances, I’m Ms. Longbottom.” 

Frances’ own parents came up behind her and said, “This is Neville! And his lovely grandmum!” They both exchanged handshakes with Ms. Longbottom, her father putting on the charm. He practiced the art of making a good first impression. 

As Frances and Neville boarded the train together, he laughed, “I think my grandmum wants to have your parents over for dinner.”

The two of them found a compartment with Hermione, Seamus, Dean, and the Weasley first year. Hermione was loudly hypothesizing where Harry and Ron could be, since she hadn’t been able to track them down either on the platform or the train. 

“Honestly, Hermione. They’re probably just in a compartment that you forgot to check, I’m sure you’ll see them when we get off. Just enjoy the train ride,” Seamus chided in his brogue.

Hermione huffed and shook her head, “Honestly,  _ Seamus _ . They could be dead! I haven’t heard a word from Harry all summer, and Ron is just awful at sending an owl. You’re sure Ron came with you to the station, Ginny?”

Ginny looked confidently at Hermione, “Like I told you, they probably just wandered away on the platform and got on a compartment at the end of the train or something. I wouldn’t be so worried.”

Hermione looked devastated no one shared her concern, so pulled out a book and proceeded to read a few pages and then snap it shut in frustration, looking out the window as if she could see the two of them out in the countryside. 

A bit later, Draco pulled open the compartment door and said haughtily (so haughtily that Frances expected he was putting on a little bit of a show) “Don’t you want to come sit with your house, Frances?”

“Ugh, fine,” she said sarcastically, smiling at Draco. “Help me get my trunk down,” she said to no one in particular. Neville immediately shot up to tug it off of the rack above the seats. Frances braced herself for Draco to say something mean to him, but was spectacularly relieved when he controlled himself. Draco stood in the doorway as she tried to walk out and said to Hermione, who was pointedly ignoring him, “What are you reading, mudblood?”

There was nothing Frances could do but roll her brown eyes and push him out of the doorway, shutting the compartment door behind them.

“What’d you do that for?” he asked incredulously.

“For using that word.”

He took the other handle of the trunk without asking and picked up the back end, the two of them shuffling down the hall as he groaned, “I didn’t call  _ you _ that!”

“It doesn’t matter who you call it, it’s a terrible word.”

he groaned, dropping his end of the trunk barely a few meters into their trek, “Why is this so heavy?”

Suddenly, with a moment of inspiration, she gasped, “We’re wizards!”

“Good catching on.”

“No, we’re wizards, why would be ever bother carrying anything?” She pulled her wand out and said authoritatively, “ _ Wingardium Leviosa. _ ” The trunk rose into the air and in front of the pair, floating in front of them as they walked down the train. 

“Thanks for not coming over to say hello to me while I was with my parents,” Draco said in a rare moment of sheepishness.

She chuckled, “Yeah, well I figured they wouldn’t take to me too well.”

“They wouldn’t have.”

“At least I know you’ve taken to me.”

He turned to her, brows furrowed. “Why do you think that?” he asked defensively.

Frances laughed, black hair falling away from her face as she tilted her head back, “Oh come on, Draco. I know you wouldn’t have come looking for me if you weren’t terribly bored with the rest of them. Pansy and Crabbe can be so amenable, and we both know Goyle is hard to have fun with unless there’s someone around to bully.”

“Did you ever consider that I got you so that Goyle and I would have someone to make fun of?”

Frances shoved Draco to the side with her shoulder playfully, “No, you wouldn’t be looking so pleased to see me right now.” 

She didn’t look to see Draco blush next to her. 

Without Hermione to worry, the rest of the ride was a lot more relaxed than the first part had been. Pansy shared with Frances a nail polish that would change colors to match the outfit of the wearer. “My mum got it for me in Diagon Alley, isn’t it brilliant?”

Frances was enamored with it, and they took turns painting each other’s fingernails while Draco and Goyle griped about ‘girl stuff.’ Frances couldn’t help but notice that Crabbe looked like he wanted to try it. When Draco, Goyle, and Pansy were occupied buying pastries from the trolley, Frances said, “Give me your hand.”

Crabbe gave it to her obediently, and she painted his pinky-nail. His face was warped in delight as it matched his dark blue, striped shirt. 

Soon the compartment became focused on changing into their robes. Several times during the summer, Frances had put them on, feeling a sense of comfort in their familiar weight. 

“Are those new, Draco?” Pansy asked, a little flirtatiously. 

Draco looked amused, if not a little offended, “Of course they’re new, you know my father would never let me walk around in last year’s robes.”

“Weird, didn’t you have those shoes last year?” Frances asked, looking down at the shiny black oxfords Draco had put on for their arrival. Even Goyle snickered, although he stopped as soon as Draco gave him a withering glare. He looked upset, and Frances had a feeling he would be writing to his mother for a new pair. 

As they boarded the carriages to the castle, Pansy asked quietly, “Why do you always have to make Draco mad like that?”

“I know you think he’s cute and all, Pans, but he can be a bit of a prat sometimes. It’s good to pull him back to earth.”

Pansy had told Frances about her feelings for Draco the previous year, and after much persuading, Frances convinced her that she had no intention to interfere on Pansy’s pursuit. Draco wasn’t really her type. 

As per Pansy’s request, Frances would often study alone so her friend would have easy access to Draco. Frances would have preferred to study with both of them, but she was paralyzed by her fear of losing her only female friend at the school. Luckily for her, she was very used to existing alone. 

On days when Pansy commandeered Draco, Frances would bury herself deep in the library. She had very little luck in transfiguration still, despite McGonagall’s consistent effort in enriching her student. This was the only subject she really worried about. Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts were practically second nature to her, and the rest of the subjects required a fair amount of work, but an amount to which she was certainly able to commit. Her friends often bemoaned her ability to study for hours on end. Frances had no idea to explain to them that staying still and quiet had been well-practiced in her primary school years. 

Sometimes Neville would study with her in between the stacks, however he had a bad habit of spacing out and watching the books float into their place on the shelves. 

As the events of that year dragged one though, he appeared there less and less, too afraid of being killed by whatever stalked the halls of Hogwarts. 

“I don’t see why you’re so worried,” Frances said to him, late one night in November, a few days after Colin Creevey had been petrified, “ _ I’m _ the one that should be concerned.  _ I’m _ the muggleborn.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why you  _ aren’t _ terrified. The only thing that I think could protect you is that you’re a Slytherin.”

Frances shook her head, turning a page in a random book she’d pulled of a shelf a few shelves down. It was called  _ Legilimency and Occlumency: More Than Mind Reading.  _ “I don’t know about that, everyone knows Salazar Slytherin hated muggleborns, why would his heir feel any different?”

“Well then even more reason for you to be staying out of the halls.”

Frances rolled her eyes and put her hand on Neville’s arm, squeezing reassuringly, “Look, I don’t want to spend this whole year worrying about things I can do very little to help. Worrying just means you suffer twice.”

He gave an unconvinced smile, but asked, “Where’d you get that from?”

“Read it in a book somewhere.”

Neville nodded and looked uncomfortable. “Do you want to leave?” she asked him. He nodded again. “Okay, I can walk you to your common room, I just want to check out this book.”

“No, I want to walk you to your house. You’re the one in danger anyway.”

They walked into the dungeons together, Neville holding her books for her. She’d told him she could carry them herself, but he hadn’t let her. He was visibly shaking, the dungeon was a scary place even without such an unspeakable terror roaming the halls. When they’d gotten to the empty stone wall that concealed the entrance, Frances whispered, “I suppose you’re going to sprint to the Fat Lady now?”

“Bloody hell, do I wish I could apparate,” he muttered in an almost angry voice.

She smiled, “Godspeed.”

Neville took off up the stairs, disappearing out of view quickly. “Parsimonious,” Frances ordered the wall, and it split open and let her pass. Her friends were sitting around one of the corner tables, all studying. 

Well, studying was a poor word for it. Draco and Crabbe were both attempting to write the History of Magic essay that Professor Binns had assigned weeks ago. Everyone in the class had entirely forgotten about it. The only people that Frances knew had it done were herself, Hermione (naturally), and Pansy (who was always the most awake in that class, somehow). 

As Draco furiously scribbled, Pansy kept asking him questions and fussing over him. Goyle was bemusedly snickering, Draco shooting him nasty looks with each laugh. 

“How’s everyone doing?” Frances asked, sitting down at the table.

Goyle turned his head in her direction and said jovially, “Well Draco is doing his best to avoid the female gaze. If I were you, Draco, I would be enjoying it a lot more.”

“Well unlike you, Goyle, I’m constantly getting female attention.” Pansy laughed loudly at Draco’s barb.

Frances smiled sweetly and teased, “When you say female attention, do you mean from your dear Narcissa?” Crabbe and Goyle both cracked wide smiles, Crabbe clapping Frances on the back and Goyle slapping her hand from across the table. 

Draco suddenly started stacking his books and parchment. “I’m going to the dormitory,” he muttered, stomping off to the rooms in his brand new shoes. 

“Why’d you have to say that?” Pansy asked, deeply offended. 

“Ugh, come on, Pans. I think subtlety might be a better tactic with him,” Frances replied in her attempt at a comforting voice.

“Whatever,” she said, packing her things like Draco had and going up to the girls dormitories. 

Frances threw her hands up in the air exasperatedly, “Everyone is so touchy these days, you’d think they were the ones being hunted down by Salazar, not me.”

The whole of Slytherin house had started joking that Salazar Slytherin himself was the one petrifying all the muggleborns in the school, so when she said that, Crabbe and Goyle laughed, the latter a little meaner than the former. 

“If only old Salazar were a better hunter,” Goyle replied coldly, his smile morphing to a look of disgust in an instant.

“Piss off,” Frances said irritably, pointing her wand at him and muttering, “ _ Epoximise.” _

Goyle’s expression turned to that of horror once he realized that his butt was entirely adhered to the heavy wooden chair he was sitting at. Goyle tried to stand but ended up keeling over onto the floor, attracting the attention of a group of fifth years. They all laughed maniacally at him. 

“Undo it!” he roared. 

“Actually, Goyle, I have a bit of reading to do.” Frances stepped over him on her way up to the dormitory, carrying the book from the library with her. She collapsed onto the four poster bed that was adjacent to Pansy’s. She looked annoyed to see her friend, but she still asked, “Why do you look so happy?”

“I just hexed Goyle. He’s writhing around the common room right now. I’d suggest running down there if you want a laugh.”

Pansy went down and returned a few minutes later grinning, “Oh my god, the prefects are trying to  _ Diffindo _ his trousers from the upholstery, they’re practically torn to shreds. I totally forgive you.”

A few weeks later, Frances and Neville were bent over books in the library when Draco came rushing in, taking the seat next to Neville and across from Frances. “I’m being driven insane, I think Pansy means to smother me,” he moaned, pressing his head into his hands.

Neville shot her a confused look, putting his quill down. “What, no hello?” Frances asked disdainfully.

Draco cracked his fingers so one eye was visible. “Hi, Frances,” he said with gritted teeth.

“What about Neville?”

He said the same to Neville, although somehow with even more venom. “I’m just going to study here. I told her I was going to the old Alchemy classroom on the fourth floor to study.”

“But there was no alchemy classroom on that floor,” Neville interjected.

“Exactly,” replied Draco, looking satisfied with his ingenuity, “I expect she’ll keep running around the upstairs for hours. Bloody brilliant, right?”

“More like cruel,” Frances admonished, furrowing her brow at him. She knew Neville agreed, but he just awkwardly turned his gaze in the direction of his books. 

“I can see how you’d think that, but you haven’t seen the note she slipped me in class.” Draco rummaged through his bag, pulling out a piece of parchment adorned with doodles of flowers and hearts that rustled and spun in an invisible breeze. 

_Dear Draco,_

_Roses are red_

_Violets are blue_

_There is no doubt in my heart_

_My life is better with you._

_XOXO_

_Pansy_

“Seems a touch heavy-handed,” Frances said, sliding the note over to Neville, who read it and laughed nervously. 

“She’s going to murder me and stuff me in her wardrobe, right?” Draco looked back and forth for reassurance from both Frances and Neville. They both shrugged, not entirely sure how to comfort him. Frances dug around in her bag until she found a miraculously intact sugar quill, and gave it to Draco. He sucked on it anxiously as he wrote his charms essay. 

The three of them studied late into the night, Draco being surprisingly civil with Neville. In fact, they studied so well together that they went to the same table every night in the library from then on. Neville told her that even when she wasn’t there, Draco would still come to the table and study. Supposedly the conversation wasn’t awful, as they both supported Puddlemere United so they had much to talk about in the way of quidditch. Neville was still frightened of him though. 

As the attacks worsened, Draco and Frances would often walk Neville back to the Fat Lady when they had finished studying and then walk down to the dungeons together. 

“Have you heard that Snape put me up to duel Potter?” asked Draco on one such night, as they walked down the moving staircases from the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. 

“I have actually, you told me this morning… and this afternoon. And at dinner.”

He appeared to wrack his mind to remember the previous discussions, “Well in any case, I expect you’ll come.”

“I expect I will. I hope you’re practicing for it.”

He snorted, “Why would I need to practice, it’s not like he’s particularly good at magic.”

“Sure, but Granger is, and she has to be helping him train. I hate to say it, Draco, but I don’t think you’d win in a fight against her.”

Peeves suddenly rocketed down the corridor above them, snatching Frances’ book on legilimency from her hands and throwing it twenty paces in front of them. He then barrelled off in the opposite direction. Draco rushed ahead and picked up the book, saying, “Why are you reading about this?”

“Well it’s interesting, isn’t it? I’d like to teach myself it.”

He handed it back to her, smiling a little, “That’ll be a tall order, it’s difficult magic.”

“Well, that’s why it’ll be interesting.”

That Christmas, her parents had relented to let her stay at the school. She’d managed to completely avoid telling them about the attacks, otherwise she would’ve been taken back home permanently. Draco had also begged his parents to let him stay at the castle. They agreed reluctantly, Narcissa almost not letting it happen. 

Early Christmas morning, Frances walked downstairs to find Draco waiting for her with a wrapped parcel. “What’s this?” she asked, plopping down next to him on the leather couch by the fire. 

“Well I figured I’d give you your gift now so you would have longer to enjoy it.” He put it in her lap and she tore into in happily. She pulled out two thin silver rings. 

“What is it?”

He took one of them from her hand and slipped it on. He then nodded towards the one still in her lap, urging her to wear it. She put it on as well. “Whenever a wearer is in trouble, or upset, it’ll get hot. That way if one of us needs help, we’ll know it.”

A small smile creeped onto Frances’ face.

“What?” he demanded. 

“Well, I know why you are giving me this alone. It’s a pretty friendly gift.”

He blushed and said, “Piss off. Where’s my gift?”

“Charming.” Frances rolled her eyes and pulled out a small green vial from her pajama pants. “It’s an infatuation reversal potion. I found the recipe in the library and I spent all week brewing it in a broom closet. I figured you could slip it into Pansy’s drink during supper.”

Draco looked as if he was going to cry, and suddenly pulled her into a hug. “Oh thank god. You’re saving my life.”

As he released her, she said, “That might be an exaggeration. Pansy’s just a little infatuated.”

He took the bottle out of her hand, “You’re only seeing it that way because she’s your friend.”

“Isn’t she your friend too?”

“How can she be? She doesn’t care about me, she just cares about dating me.” 

Frances didn’t know what to say to this, so she was very quiet for a time. “Who is your friend then?”

“Well you, obviously. And…um.” He looked around the room, as if someone were there to jog his memory. “Well it’s kind of embarrassing, but Longbottom isn’t half bad.”

She suppressed a laugh, “Well if you think you could be friends with him, maybe you should try to get him to be less terrified of you.”

“I hate to break it to you, Frances, but he’s not frightened of me. He’s embarrassed of me, and of you for that matter.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” she demanded. 

“Well the best I can figure it, is that he doesn’t want his Gryffindor chums to know he’s friends with Slytherins like us. I mean, you on your own are probably fine. But we’re too good of friends for you not to be a blight on his record. He’s like everyone else, just wants Potter to be his friend.”

If Frances weren’t so enraged by what Draco said, she would’ve laughed about how he managed to bring every conversation back to Harry, but she wasn’t calm. She was angry. If Neville had stayed for Christmas, she would’ve marched right up to the Fat Lady and yelled outside the common room until he came out. 

Without this option however, she settled for storming out into the dungeon yelling, “I’m going for a bloody walk!” She walked into the hallway with such anger and speed that a passing house elf yelped. Under other circumstances she would’ve apologized, but this day she just marched past. 

She was going to walk into the bitter cold and snow outside, but realized she only had on one of the jumpers that Draco had given her at the beginning of the year. On the sixth floor she found a room that seemed to be solely for the storage of broken desks and chairs. She found herself casting  _ Reducto _ over and over again, disintegrating the contents of the room one by one. It managed to succeed in calming her down. While she was still angry, she could at least breathe and swallow normally, and her grip on her wand relaxed. 

She was halfway through disintegrating the room when she heard a familiar cold, nasally voice. “You’re not the student I would expect to find destroying school property.” 

Frances stood up, brushing dust from her trousers. “Professor Snape.” She suddenly realized she’d been crying, and wiped the tears with her sleeve. Snape seemed to notice this but made no mention. 

“Yes, Miss Tacet. I hadn’t thought to find you here, but it’s just as well that I did. I’ve been noting your talent in my class, and I think that you would do well if I put you in a more demanding class. I saw that you brewed a infatuation reversal potion for Mr. Malfoy when I was looking in the East tower corridor broom closet. That potion is incredibly advanced, and from what I saw, you brewed it correctly. I’ve already petitioned Dumbledore to let you take the fifth year Potions class next year, but that will require advanced lessons this year to fill in some gaps.”

“The fifth year course, Professor? I’m not sure I could keep up.” Frances was very confused, she knew she had skill in potions, but a two year jump seemed like too much.

He pursed his lips, “I’m sure with diligent work, you will be more than prepared for it, Miss Tacet. Do you accept?”

She nodded nervously, not sure if she really had an option. 

“Good. We will start with private tutoring after the winter holiday.” He began to turn to walk back in the corridor, when he turned and asked, “Have you considered teaching Potions before?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded approvingly and glided out the door. 

Eventually she found her way back to the common room, after an afternoon spent eating and reading quietly in the Great Hall. At one point Crabbe and Goyle rushed in, grabbed armfuls of pastries and rushed out, laughing madly. Crabbe smiled at her dumbly as they passed, mouth full of biscuits. 

She spent a long time there, watching as her peers wandered in and out. Some professors were there too. Hagrid and Professor Flitwick were enjoying an animated discussion, about what Frances couldn’t discern, although Flitwick seemed to be rolling his eyes a lot. At one point Dumbledore walked in and slipped a few treacle tarts in his long velvet sleeve. He noticed her watching and gave her a sly smile, and with a flick of his wand, a tart appeared in front of her, it tasted much better than others she had had before. 

Frances went back to the common room very late that night, hoping that Draco would not still be down there when she returned. Of course, because she had terrible luck, he was waiting on the same couch as he had been earlier that day. 

All the anger she had been feeling earlier that day came back, and she did her best not to stomp her feet as she went to her dormitory. “Frances, can you please come here?” he asked. She stopped in her tracks, but did not turn around or move backwards. “Please?” he asked again.

This made her turn and walk reluctantly to the couch opposite him. She sat down heavily. 

“First, I’m sorry for what I said early. I was right, but I probably shouldn’t have said it anyway.”

“Some apology,” she snorted. 

Draco rolled his eyes and groaned, “Can you just cut me a break for one time? You’re way too hard on me  _ and _ it’s Christmas!”

Frances said nothing but nodded with a sour expression on her face. 

“Anyway,” he continued, “Crabbe and Goyle have been acting really weird today.” He went on to explain that he’d had a long conversation with them in the common room where they had been very reluctant to bash Potter, and then they’d both rushed out, panicked. “And then they came back in thirty minutes later saying they passed out in a broom closet! Can you believe how truly idiotic they are? Sometimes I question whether either of them are actually wizards or if they were just sent here to torment me with their idiocy.”

The tale had lightened her mood a little bit, and she told him about the amount of food she’d seen them taking out of the Great Hall that afternoon. They played chess late into the night, until the fire burned to embers and the kappas, usually attracted by the common room’s glow, had drifted away to the surface of the lake. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I was really trying to publish this like a week after the first chapter but I got really excited so I just went for it. 
> 
> Also, a disclaimer, this fic's events will pretty closely follow the books. Some things from the movies will be included, but they will for the most part be pretty limited.   
> The first three books will probably be gone through relatively fast. I don't have a lot of desire to put Frances in every scene that the trio is in because I don't want to make it some weird Mary Sue situation. By the time Goblet of Fire events roll around, there will start being some romance ;), and Order of the Phoenix will also be when Frances' involvement in the main storyline starts happening.   
> As always, feel free to leave a review or a comment!


	3. Chapter Three

By the time the term started up again, Frances had mostly forgotten about the incident on Christmas Day. They’d spent their remaining days on holiday sliding down snow covered hills on stolen sleds. Draco was in an elated mood ever since he’d found out Granger had been taken into the hospital wing and wouldn’t come out for a while. He regularly tormented Weasley and Potter whenever they passed each other in the hallways, the two of them glowering at Draco but saying nothing in return. 

The day Hermione left the hospital he was annoyed by her sudden reappearance in all of his classes, and was extra cruel that day. On days like that, she often wished she wasn’t friends with Draco. Frances would try to stand behind Draco and look apologetic, but she knew that the person he was tormenting wouldn’t see her expression, they would just see her as another one of his cronies. She didn’t want to be Crabbe and Goyle, but convincing herself she was somehow any different from them was a tall order. Frances knew she was just a coward. 

It was May when the next student was petrified. Frances and Neville were walking out to the stands to watch the Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff match when McGonagall came running through the crowd, with skirts hiked up, yelling, “There’s been another attack, return to your common rooms at once!” Neville gave Frances a look of absolute terror, so to comfort him she hooked her arm through his for their walk back to the castle. 

The identities of the victims were kept under wraps for several days, but eventually it got out that Penelope Clearwater and Hermione Granger had been the ones petrified. In another bout of bad news, Hagrid had been revealed as the one attacking the students (something Frances felt was incorrect, but she was in no place to dispute) and Dumbledore had been sacked. In Herbology that day, Draco waited until a bereaved Weasley and Potter had walked into the greenhouse when he began talking loudly to Crabbe and Goyle, who flanked him. “I expect class today will be delightfully quiet without Granger today.”

Ron and Harry stood across the planters from Neville and Frances. They looked down at their hands, putting on their gloves dutifully, faces screwed up in an attempt to ignore Malfoy. Neville was tensed up uncomfortably next to her, watching their expressions. Malfoy stood at the far end of the planter, diagonal to Frances, but still loud enough that he commanded the room.

“You know what Goyle?” he continued, raising his voice even louder, “I reckon Hagrid got tired of hearing Granger’s constant talking. I just wished he’d finished the jo-”

Something in Frances snapped, the same thing that had been shut down in her first interaction with Draco was alive now. It was even more alive than when he had insulted Neville. In a second, she realized why Draco’s hatred towards Granger weighed so heavily on her. If Frances had been sorted into any other house, had by some turn of fortune not made a friend out of Draco, she would be Hermione now. 

So it wasn’t shocking that when she lifted her wand and shouted, “ _ Stupefy!”  _ she did so with  such intensity that it shot Draco back hard against the frosted glass of the greenhouse. Even Crabbe and Goyle were moved to the side by the red jet of light that emanated from Frances wand. The ring Draco had given her burned white hot. 

In another stroke of bad luck, Professor Sprout walked in just as she had stunned Draco. “Miss Tacet, put that wand away! Go see Professor Snape at this instant!” She rushed over to attend to Draco, who seemed to be entirely unconscious. Both Harry and Ron were looking up, and the latter even seemed to be smiling. “Wicked,” he said under his breath as he looked at a crumpled Draco. 

Frances awkwardly removed herself from the greenhouse, a manic smile taking over her face, growing with each step. It felt like she had lifted a weight off of her chest, one that had been pushing her into the ground for almost two years. Her shame and self-hatred had all been channeled through her wand and right into Draco. 

She reached the dungeons, feeling ecstatic. Frances knocked on the door near the potions classroom: Snape’s office. Light footsteps clicked across the stone floor and then the door was pulled open, his long face looking down at hers, immediately knowing that she had done something wrong. 

Frances had spent many hours with Snape at this point, both in class and in her private lessons. They’d met every week for the past few months, each time brewing a more complex potion. After they’d finished, he would give her a mountain of homework to complete in preparation for the next week. She had to do this work as well as the work for regular potions class. All this had amounted to incredibly late nights in the library. It was often just her and the sixth years left inside into the early morning. 

“Come in, Miss Tacet.” Suddenly she was ashamed, how was she going to explain what had happened to Snape. “I assume you are not here of your own volition. What happened?” His voice was cold, although without the disdain that he usually reserved for other students. Frances would hesitate to say he liked her, but he certainly did not hate her. 

“Draco was making fun of the students that have been petrified so I stunned him. I think I knocked him unconscious.” She looked down at the floor in shame. 

He pursed his lips, “Well that was very stupid of you, although my commendations for casting that powerful of a spell. I suppose your teacher sent you so that I would be in charge of your punishment. As it turns out, I have a number of cauldrons that need to be scrubbed.”

“Yes, Professor.” 

He continued, “Since it would probably not be wise for you to go back to class and cause a riot, you can get started on those cauldrons now,” he paused. “I don’t suppose you have your potions work done early.”

“I do, Professor. It’s in my bag.” She turned and put her bag on the table, sorting through loose parchment and books to locate the several sheets that she had spent hours on the night prior. As she turned to hand the parchment to Snape, her bag, left precariously upright, toppled off the table, its contents spilling onto the floor. 

Frances immediately turned to gather her belongings, hastily hastily shoving quills and loose parchment into the canvas bag with a top flap that wouldn’t properly clasp shut. Snape strode over and bent down, picking up the book on legilimency she’d had for several months now. 

He turned it over in his hand, paging through it. “Are you trying to learn legilimency?” he asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Yes, Professor Snape. I haven’t had any luck though.”

“No, I imagine you haven’t. This book is more of a history than a how-to guide. Most fully grown wizards would have a difficult time just using this book. I have a much more helpful book somewhere in here, if you want it.” 

“Are you a legilimens, Professor?” she asked in disbelief, although it would explain how he seemed to know what all of his students seemed to be thinking.

“I am, Miss Tacet. Would you like my book or not? I promise you’ll find nothing in the school’s library like it. Our curriculum doesn’t include anything as difficult as legilimency, so the library has no need to stock it.”

“Y-yes. I would like it,” she replied nervously. He went to one of his many bookshelves, closely looking at the spine of each book until he found a small, forest green book with what looked to be an illustration of a brain in worn golden lines. Snape handed it to her and she carefully put it in her bag. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, expressionless. “Come with me to the classroom, the cauldrons are in there. I must recommend you wear gloves. Some of the potions are particularly toxic, so be careful not to get it on your robes.”

She went to the classroom, where she worked for several hours, missing the rest of herbology and even dinner. By the time she had finished she was sore and had a horrible headache from the fumes. 

Deciding the hospital wing would probably be a good place to go to for some kind of pain reliever, she trudged slowly across the castle, feeling ripe for a long sleep. 

Madam Pomfrey was looking sadly over the frozen bodies of Penelope Clearwater and Justin Fitch-Fletchley. She hardly noticed Frances come in, jumping when she said quietly, “Madam Pomfrey?”

The old woman turned suddenly, eyes for a second full of fear. “Ah, Miss Tacet. You are very quiet.”

“Yes, I know. Do you have anything for a headache?”

“I do.” She went back into a closet to look for the medicine, leaving Frances near the bodies of her peers. Their petrified figures struck her with paralyzing terror, so she looked at the ceiling instead, taking in only that which was cast in stone and twenty meters above her. 

Madam Pomfrey came bustling back out, handing France a foul smelling tonic, which she downed ungracefully, nearly spitting it back out. “It’s just as well that you came. One of  _ your _ victims is here. That stunning spell you hit him with had him vegetative for a few hours. He’s been coming around if you want to go to apologize to him.”

“Why would I want to apologize to him?”

She looked at Frances with pity, clearly knowing something she didn’t, “Well, you certainly want to talk to him, I can see as much for myself. Besides, he hasn’t had anyone come to see him and I can only handle so much of his whining. He’s just down at the end.” Madam Pomfrey pointed to a bed that had a white curtain drawn around it, then she disappeared into what was likely her chambers. 

Frances walked gingerly to where Draco was hidden, wishing her feet weren’t carrying her independently of her brain. She drew the white curtain back and saw Draco looking coldly at her. Resisting the urge to run, she went inside and closed the white hangings back up behind her. 

“Why are you here? I think you’re the last person I want to see right now.”

“Madam Pomfrey told me that I wanted to talk to you.”

He snorted, “Well I should hope that whatever you want to say to me is some kind of apology for what you did.”

Frances looked repulsed, “Apologize? Why would I do that, you should apologize for what you were saying.”

“Why do you always get so pressed whenever I talk about Granger? The only thing you share with her is your blood status! You’re hardly alike.”

She threw her hands up in the air, “Well that’s my point isn’t it? If I weren’t friends with you and I got petrified, wouldn’t you be making the same kind of jokes. I couldn’t possibly be more different than Granger and yet I  _ know _ you would still say the same things about me!”

“Well if you feel that way then you have to tell me. Your solution to every problem can’t just be bottling up your anger for months at a time and then letting it blow up in my face. You have anger issues, Frances. I can’t believe I’m the first one to break it to you.” 

“I don’t have anger issues!” She yelled, thankful that the only other people in the infirmary were too petrified to hear her. 

He raised his eyebrows as if to say she had proven his point. “Every time you get angry, Frances, you curse someone. You turned my head into a pumpkin, you stuck Goyle to his seat, and now you’ve put me in the hospital again. Next time just yell at me whenever you get angry, don’t hold it down until you snap. I’m tired of being cursed!”

Frances, for a third time that day, felt ashamed. Although her anger towards Draco was still there, she knew he was right. She knew that nothing productive could come from not expressing it. 

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t make eye contact with him, instead looking at the marble floors. 

He nodded approvingly, “I know you are.”

“You know, I think you have something to apologize for,” she said peevishly.

Draco grimaced, but said, “I’m sorry for being insensitive.”

“I don’t suppose I could get you to say that to Potter or Weasley.”

He looked offended, “Can’t believe you just said that to me.” There’s was an awkward, pregnant pause for a moment, Draco looking long and hard at the ceiling, searching for something to say. Eventually he settled on, “Well I guess I’m glad that you came. I was beginning to regret putting that potion in Pansy’s drink I was so bored.”

Draco had slipped Frances’ gift into Pansy’s goblet of orange juice the very first day she had returned. It had been startlingly effective, the love seeming to drain from her eyes the moment the concoction touched her lips. She’d showed no further feelings of infatuation for Draco, and the two had become normal friends in the following months. 

“Don’t jinx yourself, she could be back to following you around the castle with talk like that.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You should probably get back to the dormitories.”

Frances looked at her watch. It was close to midnight, she must have spent even longer scrubbing cauldrons than she originally suspected. “If I was going to get petrified, it would be the night I’m walking around in the dungeons at midnight.”

“Is it that late?” he asked, concerned. Frances nodded. “Well then sleep in one of the beds here, I can’t imagine Madam Pomfrey would care if it meant you didn’t get petrified.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” 

“Bring the bed next to mine inside the curtain,” he offered, “It’ll be creepy trying to fall asleep with all of those people out there.”

She drew the white curtain to the side, casting a quieting charm on the cot as she dragged it across the stone floor until it fit within Draco’s curtain. She took off her robes, kicked off her shoes, and just wearing a t-shirt and jeans, crawled under the covers after drawing the curtains back around the two beds. She fell asleep quickly, her body aching from an evening of manual labor. Draco didn’t sleep well, but he had started feeling better than he had in a long time. 

A few days later, Frances was trying to finish her extra Potions homework when Weasley and Potter sad down across from her at her table in the library. 

“Can I help you?” she asked. They’d had some brief interactions in the past when she’d been hanging out with Neville, but she’d never actually had a real conversation with either of them. 

“We just wanted to say,” Ron started, wearing an unfamiliarly earnest look, “Um…thanks for hexing Malfoy. If you hadn’t done it, one of us would’ve sooner or later… and that might not have been the best for us.”

This was certainly not what she was expecting, although she was thrilled to hear someone thank her for what she had done. Frances didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t stunned Draco for anything but selfish reasons though, so she just said, “Oh, you’re welcome. I guess you guys are probably on thin ice after that whole flying car thing.” They looked anxious at this, Harry rubbing the back of his neck. “I really am sorry though, for how he acted. I wish I had more control of him, but you know how he is.”

“Yeah, we know how he is. But so do you, why are you friends with him?” Harry asked resentfully.

Frances wracked her brain but could only come up with, “I don’t know, it seemed easier to make a friend out of him than an enemy. I mean, look how he treats Hermione. Besides, I live with him, how could I escape that kind of abuse?”

“You’re definitely not a Gryffindor with that kind of logic.” Ron laughed, making a salient point.

She grimaced, “No, Sorting Hat made a good call with that one. At least the attacks are over though, right?”

Both of them rolled their eyes. “Ugh, come on,” Harry groaned, “You don’t honestly think Hagrid was the heir of Slytherin. Hagrid?”

Frances sighed, “Well I don’t have any better ideas, do you?”

In a sudden flash, she saw herself - but she wasn’t Frances, she was Ron - sitting in the library, a few meters away on a different night, poring over books with Hermione and Harry, frantically searching for some clue for who the heir of Slytherin could be. She saw the three of them in the second floor bathroom brewing a potion. The awful smell of it reached her nose and shooting her back into her body. With a start, she realized she had just achieved legilimency, somehow without any effort at all. Frances resolved to figure out how that could have happened later. Ron blinked strangely and rubbed his head. 

“But… you’ve been trying to find out, right?” They nodded, a little confused. “Well, if I know Hermione, she would be the one of you to figure it out. She had to have left some kind of clue if she  _ had  _ figured it out. Have you tried looking for something she may have left behind?” 

Harry stood awkwardly, “Er, we should go. Thanks again.”

They rushed off with purpose, leaving Frances alone again. 

Just a few days later, they received the terrible news. Frances was sitting with Draco and Pansy in the common room, taking a well deserved break in the Great Hall for some pumpkin pasties and juice when they heard an awful screaming coming from the halls. The three of them rushed out along with the rest of the students eating, to see the wall outside the second floor girls bathroom covered in blood. 

The next minutes were a blur, everyone was gathered and rushed back to their common rooms. The Slytherin Head Girl had been deputized to relay the bad news. They were to be sent home the next day, Hogwarts was to be closed. 

Frances was in a daze, entirely unsure of what had transpired. Pansy kept urging her to go to their dormitory to pack their things, but Frances couldn’t move her legs. She kept thinking of having to return to the muggle world. What other magical school could she go to? Everything she knew of magic was tied irreversibly to Hogwarts. Without the school she would be lost, without her close friends, without the ability to learn the things that she cared for most. 

Suddenly she broke into tears, her face warped and wet. Entirely inconsolable, Pansy tried her hardest for nearly an hour to calm her down, but as Frances wasn’t able to explain the root of her anguish, her friend had no idea what to say. Finally, Pansy realized she had better just go up and pack for herself. So Frances was left alone in the common room while the rest of her house packed their things to leave, to go back to their magical families. 

Eventually she had cried enough that her eyes entirely dried up. This didn’t make her feel any better, it just felt as if she had no way to express her anger without tears. She stayed in the common room all night, not daring to pack one belonging, holding onto hope that this was just a cruel joke. 

As the early morning light began shining through the lake and into the common room, filling the space with an eerie greenish glow, Frances began to contemplate packing her things. She decided against it however, thinking she would probably just break down and cry again in the dormitories. Eventually students started trickling downstairs into the common room, muttering amongst themselves. “Do you think they’ll let us out to get breakfast before we take the train. I’m feeling rather peckish,” she heard one fourth year say nonchalantly. Frances was reminded of how little this must matter to the rest of her house when they had magical families to return to. 

Soon, Draco came down the stairs, taking one look around the room and immediately spotting Frances. He walked over to her gravely, sitting in the chair opposite her, “It’s okay, there are other wizarding schools.”

Frances looked at him through bleary eyes, feeling entirely inconsolable, “I don’t want to go anywhere else.”

Suddenly the prefect, Donnelly walked in and shouted, “Listen up! I have good news. The monster has been slain, and the Weasley girl rescued. Hogwarts will not be closing.” Students cheered, and Frances let out a sigh that had been stuck in her chest for the whole night. Draco wasn’t looking at Donnelly, he was looking at Frances, measuring her reaction. “There’s more good news. All exams have been cancelled!”

This time the cheers were raucous, loud screams echoing in the stone room. Draco smiled a big toothy grin, looking back at his friend. The rest of the house filtered out of the dungeons to break their fast, but Frances just sat there looking at her hands. 

“I expected you’d be overjoyed,” Draco said quietly, although his voice felt loud in the sudden quiet of the common room. 

Frances replied, “I thought I’d never see my friends again, you an-and Neville. None of my muggle friends, I just can’t talk to them anymore knowing what I know, you know? Ugh god, I don’t know what to do.”

“You could always unpack.” 

She laughed quietly, “Well, I guess there’s one good thing about the meltdown I had.”

“What’s that?” he asked. 

She looked into his eyes and smiled, “I never packed.”

He laughed, setting her off into her own fit of it, until they were both in stitches, now unburdened by the news that had come the night before. They didn’t go down to breakfast, instead they went down to the lake. They strolled along the shore, looking for the giant squid but not finding it. On any other day they might bicker or debate with such a long time alone, but today they said nothing, opting to look at the blooming flowers along their path. Frances marvelled at the owls circling the owlery, and the strange looking fish swimming in the shallows of the water. After a long while walking around, they spotted a tall, long-haired figure stomping toward them, cane swinging wildly, as if he meant to hit something with it. He came close enough that the sun ceased to backlight him so harshly, allowing Frances to see his face: Draco’s father. Draco knew who it was though, he’d known as soon as he’d seen the silhouette. 

“Draco, we’re leaving!” he ordered as soon as he was within earshot. Her friend shot a nervous glance at her, tense and nervous. Lucius came up to Draco, not seeming to notice Frances at all. “Did you hear me, son? It’s time to go, your things have been sent ahead of us.” His eyes flicked over to her, almost by accident, but he looked back when he realized he had no idea who she was. He gave her an up-and-down, trying to deduce her identity, finally he said to his son, “Draco, I assume I had taught you better than to associate with filth like her. And you,” he was now speaking directly to Frances, “don’t let those Slytherin robes fool you into thinking you are equals with my son. If it were up to me your kind wouldn’t be allowed to step foot in the castle.”

He started to turn away, hand on Draco’s shoulder, but Frances blurted out, “Well, can’t you do something about it? You’re school’s governor, have me expelled.” As soon as she said it she regretted it. Why would she think that daring someone so powerful would do her any good? She realized however, that the only other thing she might have done was curse him, which would certainly have her expelled. Frances realized, with a level of satisfaction inappropriate considering the situation, that she had finally been able to communicate instead of erupting in violence. She figured she would have to learn not to be so destructive in her communication next time, however. 

From Lucius, where she had expected a promise to fulfill her request, she got only gritted teeth and a primal, angry sound in what seemed like an attempt to lob an insult. He turned his son around, an iron grip on his shoulder and marched up the hill, leaving Frances to wonder why her words had grated Mr. Malfoy so much. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading. Comments and kudos are much appreciated!


	4. Chapter Four

She didn’t find out why Mr. Malfoy had been so irate until several weeks later, when she received an owl from Draco. 

_ Frances,  _

_ Sorry I haven’t written to you yet, father has been unhappy with me, especially for the fact that I “continue to associate with mudbloods.” He only let me use the owl because I told him I would be writing to Goyle, as if I’d want to talk to that boring prick.  _

_ Anyway, I’d expect he rather hates you now, considering what you said. In any other situation it would have been rather foolish, he really could’ve gotten you expelled. But the good/bad news is that shortly before he came down to the late he was sacked. I would tell you why, but I’m afraid it’ll have to wait until next year, as it’s rather sensitive information that I don’t think anyone should have to hear through.  _

_ Regardless, had you said what you said to anyone else I would’ve congratulated you on it, it was stupid and funny. As it turns out I’m in a bit of trouble for it. It’s fine, however you should probably not write back to me, as there’s a fair chance they could read my incoming mail if they want. If I can manage it I’ll send you another owl, but not until they cool down. You really did a number.  _

_ Congrats,  _

_ Draco _

Frances received no more post from her friend that summer, but she reread the letter to reassure herself that things were okay. Although, on one day in the middle of June, she felt her ring grow unbearably hot, and it stayed that way for the whole day, it got so bad she had to take it off and keep it in her pocket. She wished she could’ve written, but she didn’t.

The good news was that Neville and his Gran apparated to their house every odd week for afternoon tea. Augusta seemed to like the social time with her parents (they were all very good talkers), and her parents were eager to learn more about the wizarding world. Neville and Frances would occupy themselves in the garden for most of their time together, usually rushing through the sitting room once or twice for cake or biscuits. 

They were sitting in the garden on the last of these visits. Augusta had told the Tacets that she could take Frances shopping and get her to the train, and they had agreed. Gemma and Stephen Tacet were protective of their daughter, but they did not like the idea of causing her to miss out on time with her friend. At the end of this visit, Frances would be leaving with her trunk by apparition and going to the Longbottom’s in the Yorkshire countryside. Neville had his legs splayed out in front of him, examining the Foxglove flowers that Stephen had managed to coax out of the ground. 

“I saw these on the White Cliffs a few summers ago, but I didn’t stop to get a closer look,” he murmured quietly, as if speaking to the flowers. His hand gently touched the petals, careful not to disturb them more than was necessary.

Frances wasn’t really listening, instead she was thinking about something that had been on her mind for nearly two years. “Neville?” she asked, interrupting him as he talked about the toxicity of the plant. 

“Yes?” He looked at her, concerned when seeing her focused expression. 

For a second she was overcome with affection for him, seeing the way he immediately turned his attention to her, but she refocused herself and said, “What happened to your parents?”

He was shocked, clearly this was the last question he expected her to ask. He was silent for a moment, and Frances suddenly knew she shouldn’t have asked, that it wasn’t her business. Before he could respond, she said, “Nevermind, you don’t have to tell me.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Neville took a deep breath before he continued, “My parents were part of the Order of the Phoenix, they were the resistance when You-Know-Who rose to power. They got tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange for information when I was very young, but they never gave anything up. She… she really messed them up. They’re at St. Mungo’s, they aren’t… they aren’t all there.” Neville looked as if he were about to cry, so Frances moved closer to him so she could pull him into a hug, rubbing his back comfortingly and regretting her decision to ask. 

He didn’t cry, and they only split up when Gemma came outside to let them know it was time to go, she gave them a strange look, raising her eyebrow at Frances inquisitorially. 

Frances’ first apparition was painful, leaving her gasping for air when she finally felt her two feet on solid ground again. Augusta patted her on the back and said, “Come along. The worst of it is over.” 

They had apparated to a path a bit below the Longbottom house, which was an old stone building, with several chimneys and blue window panes. The path up to the house was lined with strange flowers and shrubs, some of them moving unnaturally, others with smells so intoxicating that Frances had half a mind to plop down in front of them and never leave. “I wouldn’t get to near those,” Neville warned of the long stemmed, bright orange-blossomed flowers that were beckoning to her, “They can drive you a little mad.”

She forced herself onwards to the house, which upon closer inspection, had a creeping of vines across the facade. As they walked up to the door, it opened on its own, or so it seemed to, until Frances looked down and saw a rather old looking house elf, wearing a very long and very brightly colored jumper. 

“Frances, this is Cascus, our house elf,” Augusta said, leaning down to give her bag and scarf to him. He slung them over his shoulder in a manner that made it clear he had done it many times before. Cascus then held out his hand for Frances to shake, which she did gladly, wondering when the elf had been freed. 

Inside, the house was warm and inviting, if not entirely shabby and strange. Where fire surely burned in the wintertime, ferns and other potted plants had been put in the fireplace. Every window sill had some seedling in a mason jar on it. Frances now very much understood why Neville was so fond of plants. 

The walls were lined with books and loose scrolls, some neatly organized on bookshelves, but clearly they had run out of room a long time ago, so they just lay in piles on every flat surface. Something was cooking in the kitchen, it smelled warm and a bit oniony, giving Frances the impression that it was pasta. 

“Follow me to your room,” said Augusta, flinging her moth eaten hat onto the sofa, where Cascus picked it up nearly immediately. Frances trotted along after the old woman, looking surreptitiously into each open room as she passed by, noticing a surprising lack of evidence of magic. Up a flight of stairs and down a long hallway, they found her room, which had a large sleigh bed with a brown and green, patchworked bedspread, perfectly turned down. Her things were already neatly stacked in the corner. “Wash up for dinner,” Augusta ordered, turning and walking out of the room.

Frances obliged, going to the washbasin and admiring how it filled with crystal clear water without the aid of a faucet. After thoroughly cleaning her hands, she bounded downstairs. No one was on the lower level, so she went to the window to look out at their back garden, which was much more manicured than the front garden. She saw the figures of Augusta and Neville sitting at a table, shadowed by the late afternoon sun. Figuring that this was probably where they would be having tea (two teas in one day!), she walked out to meet them.

She sat opposite Neville at the round table, Augusta and Cascus sitting at either end of her. Frances did not know much about house elves, but she figured it was probably very strange for one to sit at the same table with its employer, free or otherwise. The dinner was pasta, with a red sauce, farmer’s sausage, and what seemed like an entire garden’s worth of zucchini. It was delicious, and Frances told Cascus so. He seemed to enjoy the praise, thanking her several times for her compliment.

Frances and Neville spent their last week of vacation doing a lot of walking. They would stroll aimlessly in the countryside for hours, getting sunburns and balancing on the low stone barriers that lined fields. Sometimes they would climb trees and encounter stray dogs, others times they’d skip stones in the ponds that dotted the low points between fields. 

The pastorality of it all almost made Frances forget about what she’d asked Neville in her garden, before they’d left for Yorkshire. One day they were both lying on the grass on a small hill, being warmed by the sun, when Frances heard herself ask, “Did you ever know them, before they were tortured?”

Her heart came to rest in her throat, and she waited with gritted teeth to hear what he said. “No, no I was too young. But my mum kept journals all her life, and Gran had me read them, so I got to know them that way. And when we visit them in the hospital, sometimes I’ll get to see little bits of their personalities. Not a lot, but sometimes.”

Again, she was wrenched out of her body and into Neville’s, seeing herself as her friend, walking in the long-term wing of St. Mungo’s, looking down at his frail, wild-eyed parents, who were staring with complete concentration at a painting of the water crashing over rocks in a rough sea. She got the feeling that this was several memories in succession, all showing the same thing.

She was thrown back into her body, Neville looking at her with anger. “What did you do that for?” he asked angrily, getting up from the ground and brushing grass off of his legs. 

“Well I didn’t do it on purpose,” she replied, standing up as well, running after Neville as he stomped off. “You know I’ve been trying to learn legilimency, and for some reason I’m only able to do it accidentally. I did the same thing to Ron last spring!” She picked up the pace to run in front of him, blocking his path. “Seriously, Neville. I’d never do it to a friend. It’s just whenever someone I care about is sad, suddenly I can see their memories. I have no control over it!”

He looked at her, right into her eyes, and finally deciding that she wasn’t lying, he said, “Okay, okay. But I don’t like it, and I’d thank you to care about me less.” He said this last bit with a glimmer of a smile, and Frances laughed at his joke and with the relief from his words. They walked back to the hill and layed down on the grass again. 

The day before the train to Hogwarts, Augusta took the pair to Diagon Alley to buy their books and new robes. Neville and Frances spent most of their afternoon at the ice cream shop, trying to figure out why their Care of Magical Creatures professor would require a book that seemed intent on killing them. Augusta went off to go purchase a new cauldron, leaving the two to their own devices. Eventually they wandered into the Leaky Cauldron, where they were staying, and saw the entire Weasley family, as well as Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. 

“Harry! Hermione! Ron!” Neville shouted, running over to them and leaving Frances behind, who followed, albeit not at such a quick pace. Neville sat down at the long wooden table with them, Frances pulling out the chair next to him. 

“Hey, Frances,” Hermione said, Ron and Harry both nodding in greeting as well. 

She smiled at her, “It’s good to see you unpetrified, Hermione.”

“I feel the exact same way.”

“Have you heard about Sirius Black?” asked Ron, Harry looking darkly down at his hands. 

Neville nodded nervously, but excited at the same time. “My gran said, well she said a lot about him actually.” He launched into information surely taken from a tabloid. All of them except for Neville seemed to know that what he was saying was to be taken with a grain of salt. Neville turned out to be a rather good storyteller though, and despite the fact that none of what he was saying was true, it was quite entertaining. They spent a while listening to him talk, Fred and George at one point joining to listen. It was late into the night when Augusta walked into the pub from the staircase to the bedrooms. They were surprised to see her come from there, dressed in her robe and slippers, seeing as they hadn’t noticed her come in from shopping. Neville’s story really had been enrapturing. 

“Neville, Frances, time to go to your rooms. I want you two to get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow,” Augusta said. Frances had noticed that she spoke almost exclusively in commands. 

Neville groaned under his breath a little, but made no other indication of annoyance. They both got up from the table, saying goodnight to the rest, and walked up the stairs after Augusta. 

Frances was in her own room, something that Neville found incredibly unfair as he had to share a room with his Gran, who apparently snored too loud for him to get any sleep at all. 

Frances always had a difficult time falling to sleep, so she spent a couple hours pacing around her room, trying to get tired to no avail. She was sitting on her bed, trying to bore herself to sleep by reading her arithmancy textbook when a quiet knock disturbed her. 

She tiptoed over to the door, opening it as quietly as possible, worried that Augusta would somehow know that she was still not sleeping even though their rooms were at opposite ends of the pub. It was Neville, looking quite frazzled and annoyed. He hadn’t been sleeping as well. 

Brushing past her, he said, “I have a ringing in my ears from Gran’s snoring. Don’t think I’ll ever get to sleep at this rate.”

“No, neither will I. I resorted to reading my textbooks and hoping that would help.” 

Neville came over to sit on her bed, examining the arithmancy book. “I don’t understand why you’re not taking divination with me, this looks horrible,” he said. 

“All I’ve heard is Trelawney is a hack.”

“Well that doesn’t mean you can’t take the class to be with me,” he bugged with a genial smile.

She rolled her eyes, leaning back on her pillows and pulling the covers over her. “You can sleep in here if you want,” she offered, picking at a hangnail. 

“I was hoping you’d say so.” Neville pulled the covers over him too. 

“Well you have to do me a favor.”

“Anything,” he answered immediately. 

“Read the arithmancy book to me for a while. I was making real progress before you got in here.” 

He picked it up dutifully, flipping to a page in the middle and reading in a low, slow voice. “In the Chaldean method, the number nine is usually not used in calculations, although other than this the method is otherwise the same as the…”

Frances fell asleep so quickly she hardly had time to process what was happening. When Neville finally realized that she had gone to sleep, he placed the book gently on the nightstand, going to turn off the gaslamp in the corner, then walking carefully back to the bed. 

When Frances woke, she was shoulder to shoulder with him. Her watch read 8:36 in the morning, so she nudged Neville awake. “Hey, go to your gran’s room and wake her up. If she asks, say you’ve been up for a bit.” 

He nodded blearily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes to try to make it convincing for her. As soon as the door shut behind him, she sprung up and began putting clothing on. A green and white striped shirt and jeans with her trainers were what she chose. Frances rushed down to find some breakfast, seeing Fred and George doing exactly that. She went to Tom, the innkeeper, and asked, “Can I have some toast, and maybe some sausages?”

“Sorry, Miss. I can get you toast, but those Weasley boys just took the last of the sausages.” Tom handed her some toast and she ate it dry while staring as the twins dug into their considerable breakfast, scheming to get one of the their sausages. One of them noticed her looking at their food before she could hatch a plan, and called out, “Slytherin girl, why don’t you come over here?”

She looked around uncomfortably, loathing to have so much attention brought to her in such a public place. He waved at her, beckoning her again. She walked over, and said, “My name’s Frances, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh, good,” said the other one, “we were very curious. Asking ourselves all morning-”

“Asking who is that awfully quiet Slytherin girl? Why isn’t she calling us a blood traitor and spitting at us?”

“Ah, well I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on with that one. I’m a muggleborn.”

“Well I certainly feel sorry for you, then. I’m Fred, he’s George,” Fred said. Frances made a mental note that Fred was in the orange jumper, and George in the blue. “We noticed you were staring at our plate, care for a sausage?” He didn’t wait for an answer, and instead took her plate from her hands, and slid some sausages onto it. “Run along now, I’m sure you don’t want Ms. Longbottom to worry about where you ran off to.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” she muttered, and thanked them for their food. The sausages nearly slid off her plate as she ran up to her room, her resolving to at least try to eat breakfast slowly.  Frances was very excited to go back to school. Her things were repacked into her trunk, somehow unable to fit into it this time around, and so she put her belts around her clothing and pulled as tight as she could to try to compress everything. Eventually she was able to get all of her things to fit inside, even the monster book, which growled at her from within the shut trunk. 

The book was still growling as she pushed it to the racks above the seats on the train compartment. She took the seat by the window, panting with the effort of hoisting it up. She’d left Neville to go sit with Draco and the rest. 

Most of the ride was spent in lurid tales about Sirius Black that Frances really didn’t participate in, she’d gotten enough at the Leaky Cauldron. The weather outside the train window was incredibly stormy. Wind, fog, and rain obfuscated the landscape moving by. 

They were discussing the Care of Magical Creatures textbook when the lights started flickering, and the train rattled to a halt, throwing them into darkness. Pansy screamed a little as the train jerked to one side, Goyle shushed her and tried to listen. 

Frances lit her wand quietly, and opened the compartment door, looking down the long hallway, and seeing something black-robed and tall move into the train. She was hit with the realization that it was staring right at her, despite her not being able to see its eyes. Her throat closed with fear, like whatever she was looking at had paralyzed her.

Draco and Pansy were yelling at her, but she didn’t realize until Goyle and Crabbe pulled her back into the compartment, looking at her like she was insane. The window had entirely frosted over, and they could all see their breath, a thick fog, in the air. 

“Are you crazy?” Draco whispered angrily.

She looked at them with confusion, “What is that thing?” Frances knew that the rest of them had already deduced it, being purebloods and well-aware of the finer points of the wizarding world. 

Pansy shushed her, watching the glass on the compartment door frost over too. “I think it’s coming down the hall,” she hissed. Pansy was right, and soon the raggedy black form moved slowly past their door. Frances felt Draco grab her hand tightly. She was thankful for the small bit of comfort she got from that gesture. The thing turned its head slightly to look at the five of them, and they all collectively held their breath, not looking away from the black hole of its hood. Then it turned its head back forward and kept moving, as it passed them by the air got warmer, but only by a negligible amount. 

“What was that?” Frances asked, carefully removing her hand from Draco’s.

“Dementor,” said Goyle, “They guard Azkaban. If I had to guess, they’re searching the train for Sirius Black.”

The five of them looked at each other, silent with the weight of what that meant. Their ride on the enchanted carriages up to the castle was also very quiet, everyone seemed to be listening outside of the carriage for screams, or something that might indicate Black was there. The stupor of the Dementor wore off by the time they started eating at the feast. This was especially bolstered by the fact that Amir told Draco that Edith had seen Potter passed out in his compartment. 

Draco turned around to face Potter gleefully from across the Great Hall, mocking him for being knocked unconscious by a dementor. Frances was reminded once again how much her friend irritated her. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter, but hope you all enjoyed! Please comment, I love reading them :)


	5. Chapter Five

The first day of class went rather fast. Hermione and Frances elected to sit together during Arithmancy as they both knew each other rather well compared to the rest of the students in the class. Frances tried to find Hermione after the class, but she had disappeared, miraculously reappearing in Transfiguration class however, much to her and Ron’s confusion. “Where’d you come from?” he asked loudly, at which Hermione just rolled her eyes, entirely ignoring his question. 

Care of Magical Creatures was the last class, something that she and Neville had been looking forward to and discussing in the week before school. 

They met at Hagrid’s hut, who they’d recently been informed was the new professor, looking around uneasily, not sure what was in store for them. Soon enough Hagrid emerged, looking positively giddy for his first day. He had the students follow him into the forest, telling them to mind tree roots and not wander far from the group. 

“What’s he got waiting for us out there?” she asked Neville, who now looked rather anxious for the lesson. 

He shrugged, “I don’t know, but if it’s Hagrid I’d reckon it might be rather exciting.” Neville didn’t look excited though, he looked positively sick. Frances looked to see Draco’s expression, which was downright angry at the developments. She could imagine what he was muttering about to Crabbe and Goyle. Something like, “Dirty half-breed expects me to walk out into the bloody Forbidden Forest for a lesson. Just for some Horklumps or Flobberworms, it’s ridiculous. I can tell already that he ought to be fired.” 

Frances was annoyed at just the idea of him saying something like that. When she got to the clearing where several strange creatures were waiting, she was in a bad mood too. Hagrid quickly introduced them as Hippogriff’s. There were five of them, all in different colors. They paced and clawed at the ground, eyes alert and wary, waiting to be approached. 

Hagrid immediately volunteered Harry to be the first to say hello, after a painfully short introduction to the beasts. He followed the instructions given to him about how to properly introduce himself, bowing low and not moving too suddenly. After half a minute of bated breath, the hippogriff, Buckbeak, finally bowed back to him. Hagrid took this as confirmation that Harry would be allowed to ride him, so he went ahead plopping him on top of Buckbeak, slapping his huge hand against its hindquarters to urge it into the air. Buckbeak took off gleefully, Harry letting out an involuntary yell as it rose above the treeline with a few flaps of its mighty wings. 

Then the students formed lines behind each Hippogriff to bow to it. 

Frances was the first up in front of a dark brown one, who seemed to be of the more docile ones. She was eager to make friends with it, but she certainly wouldn’t risk it with one that seemed unamenable to her. 

Once the prescribed motions had been carried out dutifully, the creature allowed her to pet it. It was soft, but underneath its feathers were hard muscles that assured her that it could strike her dead in an instant. Potter landed on Buckbeak, jumping off victoriously to the applause of many of his classmates. 

She heard Draco scoff from the back, where he was tactfully avoiding having to meet any of the Hippogriffs. “Can’t be very hard if Potter can do it! Bet these beasts aren’t dangerous at all!” he announced, striding up to Buckbeak assertively. His air of unshakable confidence was thoroughly shaken when the Hippogriff reared up on its hind legs and slashed him on the arm, knocking him to the ground. 

He shouted and writhed on the forest floor, Hagrid striding over and gathering him up in his arms. As he was taken to the castle they could hear his loud moaning, their professor wearing an expression of equal concern and annoyance. 

Ron rolled his eyes and loudly proclaimed, "That was a really bad thing to happen in Hagrid's first class, though, wasn't it? Trust Malfoy to mess things up for him..."

Frances went down to the hospital wing after dinner that night. Pansy had told her that it was “really horrible what Hagrid’s monster had done to him,” so she had been feeling anxious and worried he could be seriously hurt. She nicked a few cookies in a napkin for him, not sure how else she could really help. 

The hospital wing was rather full, as it was the first few days of school. It was mostly first years moaning in cots, since they were the ones that didn’t know their way around the castle and were eager to get close to the Whomping Willow and other dangerous Hogwarts linchpins. 

She spotted Draco as soon as she entered. He was sitting in the bed opposite of where he had ended up the last year after she stunned him. Draco was happy to see her, holding out his uninjured arm to take what she had brought him. He placed it in his lap, unwrapping it a little slower than he might if he had two working arms. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked. 

“Alright, Madam Pomfrey gave me something for the pain and mended my cut so I should be fine in a few days,” he said after chewing and swallowing his cookie. 

Frances rolled her eyes, “Oh come off it, I know you’re not just doing ‘fine,’ you’re always up in arms about something. This situation is really not any different.”

“Ah well now that you mention it, my father’s aiming to get Hagrid fired.”

“Fired?” she shouted, causing everyone in the infirmary that was fit to turn their head to look in her direction. In response, she lowered her voice and stepped closer. “For what? You were the one that acted a total muppet in class. Hagrid told you everything not to do and you still did it!”

Draco’s expression changed to the one that he wore whenever he was about to get defensive. “It’s not my fault that the oaf is introducing us to such  _ dangerous _ creatures! Look at my arm, clearly they’re not safe!” Frances was entirely disbelieving, and she knew somehow that he didn’t entirely believe what he was saying either. 

“They’re only unsafe if you start acting like a tosser to them! Clearly you don’t have a problem with things hurting you since you’re always hanging around me and acting like an arsehole!”

“Is that a threat?”

Their voices had risen to shouts and in the noise Madam Pomfrey had come out in her apron and red dress, looking very cross. “Why is it, Miss Tacet, that you are always the one shouting at my patients?” She yelled, matching the volume the two of them had set. “Now if you don’t mind, get out of my infirmary before I give you a reason to be in here!”

Draco leaned back on his bed with supreme satisfaction, taking a cup of water from the nightstand and sipping it, all the while making aggressive eye contact with Frances. This last act of enmity threw her into such a rage that she screamed, “Have fun pissing in a bedpan, you absolute maggot!”

As she stormed out, she saw a look of such loathing on Madam Pomfrey’s face that she was certain if she didn’t leave fast enough she would get jinxed. Frances slammed the door behind her as hard as she could, although much effort was required for this since it was so large and heavy. 

Suddenly her thoughts turned to Neville, and how badly she needed to rant. Frances stomped into the Great Hall, hoping he was still eating his dinner. Indeed he was, and talking animatedly with Ron, Harry, Hermione, Dean, and Seamus. As Frances took a seat between Neville and Hermione, Dean asked, “Is she allowed to sit with us?” looking around confusedly. 

“Piss off, Dean. Are you going to call McGonagall?”

“Well I might now that you mention it,” he said cheekily. 

She rolled her eyes, “You shouldn’t, I’ve come to complain about Draco. I’m sure you all can get on board with that.”

They all leaned in closer as she told them of his plan to get Hagrid fired. Their looks of absolute ire only worsened as her description of their conversation went on. 

“What a git,” exclaimed Ron when she had finished. 

“Couldn’t agree more. I don’t know what his plan is now, but I’m certain there’s not a good outlook for Hagrid, considering how much worse Draco’s dad is than he.”

“Well someone ought to tell Hagrid,” Neville suggested, clearly speaking to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They nodded in agreement, having already thought about that. 

“I should leave before Madam Pomfrey finds me and gets Filch to string me up in his office,” joked Frances, getting up from the table. 

“I’ll come with you,” Neville said, snagging his bag and one last sip of pumpkin juice. Once they’d gotten out of earshot of the rest, he commented, “You shouldn’t have yelled at him like that.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’ve taken Draco’s side, I thought I knew you better than that.”

“Oh come on,” he groaned, “I’m not taking his side, I’m worried about you. He might turn on you now that you’ve said all of those things. You still have to live with him, remember?”

They turned down the hallway and went down the dungeon stairs. “I appreciate the concern, Neville, but Draco and I are constantly fighting, this shouldn’t change anything.”

They were in front of the blank stone wall where the entrance to Slytherin house was hidden. Neville looked very worried. “Sure, but in all those fights it was just because he did one little bad thing. If you say Malfoy’s going after Hagrid, I don’t see this blowing over anytime soon. He’s going to be campaigning to get Hagrid sacked for a while. Unless you’re prepared to ignore what he’s trying to do-”

“I would never!”

“Exactly. I’m just saying, I wouldn’t get too involved with the idea that you’ll be back to being friends in a fortnight.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Neville rolled his eyes at her unwillingness to discuss the topic further, but he had long resigned himself to the idea that she would never accept advice until she was ready to. He walked off and she entered the common room, very happy that Draco wouldn’t be there for at least a week.

Her first potions class of the year was almost perversely difficult, although she didn’t know how she could’ve expected otherwise considering it was a fifth year’s class and she was but a measly third year. 

To her surprise, the Weasley twins were in her class. She arrived a little early than everyone else, so when Fred and George entered and immediately zeroed in on Frances, sitting alone at a table, she was entirely dumbstruck. 

“Hello, Frances. How have you been the last few days?” Fred asked like he was telling a joke. 

“Alright, why do you ask?” she shot back, suspicious.

George continued, “Oh, well, we heard that you got into a shouting match with your Malfoy friend. You threatened him and then turned his fingers to squid tentacles.”

“I don’t know who you heard that from but I’m too lousy at transfiguration to do that, although I certainly did threaten him.”

“Well if you didn’t attack him, what did you do?” Fred asked.

She smiled, still a little proud of what she’d said. “For one, I did tell him to have fun pissing in a bedpan. Then Pomfrey threatened to hurt me, so I had to leave.”

“Wicked,” they said in usision. “Anyone who knocks Slytherins down a peg is good with us.”

“You know I’m a Slytherin, right?”

“Sure,” George insisted, “But that doesn’t mean you can’t insult the people in your house.”

“If anything, you’re even  _ more _ equipped to insult them considering all of the inside information you have,” Fred added. 

“What’s happening right now, is this you two fishing for dirt?”

George smirked. “Do you have any?”

“I’m sure I can come up with so-”

Snape waltzed in, ordering, “Everyone be quiet and face forward, I have very little time to prepare you for your OWLS and I’m certain even with adequate time, the majority of you will never learn. Let’s begin.”

What followed was a double Potions so excruciating that Frances was sweating at the end of it, the twins and Angelina Johnson, who’d decided to sit with them, doing the same. They had to leave to get to their next class, but she had no class immediately afterward, so she approached Snape with a question that had been weighing on her for several months. 

“Professor?”

“Make it fast, Mrs Tacet, I have to go speak to the headmaster in a few minutes,” he grumbled, looking at his gradebook with a furrowed brow.

“Yes, sir. I don’t know if you remember, but you gave me that book about legilimency last year an-”

“Don’t tell me you lost it.”

“No, sir. But I have been able to do it, a few times actually.”

“That’s good, but I don’t see why you need to discuss it with me if you’re so… successful at it.” He was looking at her with an impossible to read expression. 

“It’s good, yes, but I can’t control it.”

“How so?” Snape raised an eyebrow.

She looked at the ceiling, searching for a way that could explain it saliently. “Well, so far I’ve only been able to do it on purpose to Crabbe, who doesn’t exactly have the best mental defenses, so I can’t quite consider that a victory.” Snape shrugged a little in agreement. “But I haven’t been able to do it on anyone else, except accidentally.”

“How does one accidentally perform legilimency?”

“It only happens when I’m feeling empathetic towards them, like if they’re talking about something that makes them sad.”

“I see.” Snape put his book down and looked gravely at her. “Mrs. Tacet, are you aware that the Dark Lord is an accomplished legilimens?”

She shook her head. 

“No, I expected not. Even in his childhood, before he knew of his parentage and ability to do magic, he was performing legilimency. He did this without a wand and without an incantation and I think I’m right in assuming you were performing it in a similar way. If so, I’d say you have an aptitude for the art.”

“Really?” she blurted.

He nodded. “Really. It seems you get your power from empathy, which is the opposite of how the Dark Lord does it, and coincidentally the opposite of the way the book teaches you.”

“So I’m powerful?”

“Yes, Mrs Tacet, but I will not be praising you further.”

She frowned, “I’m not asking for praise, just for clarity.”

“Unimportant, the thing you should take away from this is that you must find a way to control your power. I have nothing to teach you if this is the only way you can do legilimency, you must teach yourself.”

“Myself?”

“Yes, and I would recommend getting a hold of it sooner rather than later. This is not something to be trifled with. You can anger many people by rooting around in their brains. Either learn to control it, or get used to many people hating you. Now, I’m going to Professor Dumbledore’s office, so run off and do your Potions work. It’s harder than it looks.”

“Well it looks hard already,” she half-laughed.

He escorted her out of his classroom and locked the door behind them. “All the more reason to start today. Good luck, Frances.”

His final words seemed very out of place as the nicest thing he’d ever said to her, but she didn’t dwell on it too long. Instead she hunkered down in the common room for the next two hours and tried to do the Potions work. It really was harder than it looked. 

Later in the night she dragged herself into bed, feeling in need of a good 24 hours, when Pansy whispered from her adjacent bed, “He’s mad, you know.”

“I figured, Pans.”

“Really mad.”

Frances turned over on the bed so she could face Pansy, who was already looking at her with wide eyes and a serious expression. “Did you ever consider I might be mad too?”

Pansy’s face screwed up in thought, finally she murmured, “No, I didn’t. Why are  _ you _ mad?”

“Well, I’m mad that Draco thinks a cut amounts to a firing for Hagrid an-”

“It’s more of a gash, really,” she interrupted.

“Not the point, Pans. Why does he think he gets to ruin someone’s life just because he acted like a fool and faced the consequences?”

“To be fair, I don’t understand why you’re friends with him and still surprised that he acts like this. It’s just how he is, and you don’t have to like it. You’ve got me, and you’ve got Neville. If Draco really makes you that unhappy, why do you still try?”

“Ugh, God. I just feel like I’ve invested this much time in him already and I can get him to a point where he’s actually great.”

“He’s not a piece of real estate, you can’t just fix him up and sell him to the highest bidder.” Pansy looked irritated at the mere notion.

“I never said anything about selling him off.”

A clever smile came over Pansy’s face. “I think I know what this is about then,” she confessed impishly, “You like him.”

“I do not,” Frances hissed. 

“Do too, why else would you care about being friends now if you weren’t saving him for later?”

“I told you before, Pans, he’s not my type.”

“Well that’s why you’re putting all this effort in, isn’t it? Trying to make him your type. Anyway it doesn’t matter what you said two years ago, you were just trying to protect my feelings since I fancied him.”

“That’s totally unfair. You can’t use a lack of evidence as evidence, I’m really not interested.” This wasn’t a lie, although the frustration in Frances’ voice really made it seem like one. She truly hadn’t ever considered him in that sense. It was fair to say that she thought he was attractive, but he was just an incredibly infuriating friend. She didn’t have an explanation as to why she did still care so deeply though. 

Pansy snickered. “You’re a terrible li-”

“Will you two just go to sleep? You’re awful whisperers,” Millicent Bulstrode barked from across the room. 

Frances knew without needing to see that Pansy was rolling her eyes. “Alright, Millie, pull your panties out of your bum, we’re going to sleep.” 

Millicent huffed haughtily.

As Frances turned to her side to try to get some sleep, Pansy murmured, “He likes you too, or he wouldn’t have put up with all of the fights.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Appreciate all kudos and reviews and I love to hear feedback! I will probably post the next chapter when my finals are over, so closer to Christmas.


	6. Chapter Six

December came, rainy and biting cold. Care of Magical Creatures was particularly dull, the dreary weather only serving to make the lessons spent out of doors caring for the Flobberworms unbearable. Hagrid seemed terribly depressed, which wasn’t helped by the fact that it had been three months now and Draco still hadn’t taken off his bandages. He also refused to touch a single Flobberworm-something Hagrid didn’t try to argue over- and as a result Draco’s Flobberworm was the healthiest one in the class. Everyone else’s was overfed by cabbage and lettuce.

There was also their second trip to Hogsmeade, which happened on a freezing and stark white day. Her visit was spent in a similar fashion to how it was the first time, over too many cups of butterbeer and firewhiskey. Seamus and Dean were absolutely sloshed, leaning on one another, so close they practically sat on each other’s laps. Frances and Neville were certainly drunk, although much less so than their friends. Seamus kept smashing the small glass tumbler and casting _Reparo_ so it would reassemble itself magically on the table. The sixth time he did it, Madam Rosmerta stormed over and grabbed him by the ear, dragging him out of the shop and throwing him into the cold. Dean stumbled off to find him, laughing the whole time.

Eventually she and Neville walked off to go back to the castle, fearing staying out any longer since the cold threatened to freeze their feet into the snow. Once they parted ways, drunkenly hugging each other, Frances wobbled down the stairs to the dungeons. As soon as she came into the common room, she snuck conspiratorially by a prefect and slouched onto on of the plush velvet couches, passing out almost immediately, warmed by the fire.

She woke up to Pansy sitting at her feet, deep in conversation and leaned forward to speak to Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. Feeling significantly less drunk, Frances rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and sat upright on the couch, Pansy shooting her a sidelong glance and smiling, motioning with her head to indicate that she should listen to the conversation.

“Anyway, so we’re near the Shrieking Shack, and Granger and the blood-traitor are there doing whatever it is that they do. So we come up and are messing around with them, and suddenly we get attacked by something.”

Crabbe and Goyle nod gravely.

“What do you mean ‘something’?” Pansy asked.

“Well it’s a ghost, obviously. We were right by the most haunted building in Britain, how could it not be? I should ask my father to have it torn down.”

“Serves you right for harassing Weasley and Granger,” Frances interjected.

Draco’s face morphed into an ugly scowl. “Didn’t know _you_ were listening,” he sneered.

Frances laughed good-naturedly, a stark contrast to the way Draco was acting, “Well I’m sitting right here, what else would I be doing?” He rolled his eyes so Frances continued,  “I guess it’s a tragedy that the ghost didn’t gash your other arm open. You could’ve made a git out of yourself for another three months.”

Draco looked like he was about to draw his wand, but as Frances’ hand wrapped around her own, the prefect who had threatened them earlier that year walked by and glared at them. They put their wands away, Draco standing abruptly and stalking off to the kitchens, looking to bully some house elves into giving him something to eat. Crabbe and Goyle followed, excited by the prospect of food.

“How was Hogsmeade for you?” Frances asked Pansy, raising her eyebrow warily as Pansy nearly jumped out of her seat at the question.

Barely talking slow enough for Frances to understand, she said, “Well I saw Blaise there, so I followed him around for a bit. And he went to the bookshop and just _read._ Frances, you don’t understand he must be so smart.”

Frances rolled her eyes so far back it made her head hurt. Pansy had been suffering a crush with Blaise for so long that Frances wondered why he hadn’t brewed his own infatuation reversal potion yet.

“Pansy, all you’re telling me is that he is most likely literate. An ability to read doesn’t make you smart, it just makes you the statistical average.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so against us being together!”

“Well for one, Pans, you’re not together, he doesn’t even know you exist and I’m reasonably confident you’ve never even spoken to him. Secondly, he’s a notorious blood purist, and an old-fashioned, run of the mill asshole to boot.”

“Well you’re one to talk about being friends with blood purists, you’re friends with the biggest offender at Hogwarts!”

“I’m not even speaking to him right now!”

She lowered her voice, speaking in a judgemental whisper. “You’re not speaking right now because he’s trying to get Hagrid fired, not because he cares about blood status.”

This time it was Frances’ turn to storm off, but she went to the dormitory instead, flopping down on the bed with a groan, feeling sort of hungover. Millicent eyed her annoyedly over the top of her book, but said nothing.

Frances spent Christmas at home, feeling a touch sad that Neville and Augusta wouldn’t be visiting for the two weeks she was at home. They’d gone on holiday to some wizard town in Norway. Apparently there were actual, magical reindeer there, or so Neville said.

The break was relaxing, except for the Potions essay that was four rolls long on the Strengthening Solution and the the reading of an incredibly torturous Arithmancy book that Professor Vector had written herself and distributed copies of to the class when she felt the subject material had become too easy.

A few days before the end of Christmas holiday, Frances received an owl from Draco and immediately experienced the strange combination of her heart leaping and her stomach dropping. If they had not been arguing at the time, she would have been excited for the prospect of contact from her friend. Whatever this was though, Frances expected it was not a letter of atonement.

 

_Frances,_

_Thought I would write to let you know that_

_the great oaf has a hearing in April. If we’re_

_lucky they should put the beast down by_

_the end of exams. Happy Holidays!_

 

_Your truest and oldest friend,_

_Draco_

 

Frances crumpled the parchment in her hand, fuming. Far away, Draco was satisfied when he felt the ring burn so hot that he had to take it off for the day. It was just like him to do something so incredibly cruel and callous. She could only imagine what he would say to Harry, Ron, and Hermione when he came back from holiday.

By the time she returned to Hogwarts, she had already decided that ignoring the letter from Draco would be her best bet, especially since if they were made to have a detention together for dueling there’s no guarantee they wouldn’t fight one another again.

He seemed content to not bring it up as well, and now that he had finally taken his bandages off, he was considerably less annoying towards her. Draco did however mercilessly taunt Harry and his friends about Hagrid, much of this driven to an extreme because he heard that Harry had mysteriously received a Firebolt over Christmas. Despite the fact that Hermione had gotten it confiscated by McGonagall -it seemed likely that Sirius Black had sent it to Potter- Draco was still terribly jealous.

They slogged through their first month back, trapped inside the castle by absolutely foul weather. If it wasn’t too cold to step outside without wearing every scarf, sweater, and mitten Frances owned, it was a downpour so heavy that she couldn’t walk outside for half a minute without getting entirely soaked.

Frances had been avoiding Draco as well as possible, spending all of her free time with Neville or Hermione and throwing herself into her work to distract from the ever present anger she felt towards her former friend. Hermione was in a similar situation, entirely alienated from Harry and Ron who were angry at her for telling McGonagall about the Firebolt. She was losing hair of the stress of school and of her closest friends entirely ignoring her. Lucky for Frances the only time she really had to interact with Draco was during the classes they had with one another and at mealtimes, and even then she ignored much of the conversation to talk to Pansy alone or to read.

Draco was just starting to forget that Potter had received a Firebolt at all when word got out that McGonagall had finally returned it, deeming it curse-free. The night that the news broke, Draco spent nearly the whole night speaking in hushed tones with Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus Flint. Frances didn’t know what they were up to, and she didn’t care to find out.

The day of the Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor match, she was unsurprised to watch Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle try to sabotage Potter by dressing as dementors. She _was_ surprised when Harry drew his wand and produced a bright, white substance that violently pushed the three of them back. Frances, who was standing with Fred and George and helping them with their betting operation, saw it shape itself into something like an animal before it was rendered apart by the high winds.

That night in the common room, Frances watched with glee as the three of them had to polish each and every piece of furniture in that giant, grand space.

They even thought they might get a break, since Sirius Black had broken into the Gryffindor tower and torn the room that Harry shared with Neville, Ron, Seamus, and Dean to shreds, but since Dumbledore had confirmed that Black was no longer in the castle in a short time, Draco and the rest got to keep polishing.

Neville had admitted that he had been writing down all of the passwords to the common room since The Fat Lady had been replaced. Sir Cadogan had been changing the password several times a day and Neville had no hopes of remembering all of them.

The following Tuesday, a still distraught and embarrassed Neville received a particularly cruel howler from Augusta, one that the entire student body talked about for the rest of the week. Frances thought it was odd that for such a kind woman, Augusta loved the concept of public humiliation as punishment.  

Draco’s bad fortune didn’t go on for long, however. His father managed to get Hagrid’s hearing bumped up by months, something he found ample time in the day to brag about. On Saturday, the news got out that Buckbeak was to be executed, and Draco was in a state of ecstasy so annoying that Frances stayed out of the common room with Neville as long as possible to avoid having to see him.

Frances was good at avoiding Malfoy at this point in the year, and she went over two months without speaking so much as a word to him. Lucky for her, Draco didn’t seem particularly interested in speaking to her either. He was focused on the Slytherin, Gryffindor match, having lost nearly three months of practice time while he was campaigning for Buckbeak’s head. He spent his mornings on the pitch with Flint and his nights practicing with the rest of the team.

After all of that practice, Draco was very sure Slytherin would win the match against Gryffindor. He was so sure, in fact, that he didn’t stop talking about it the entire week leading up to the match.

Running the betting with Fred and George was particularly tense that day, Frances jabbing at them on all sides about their rivalry. Today it was a lot less friendly than most days. Privately, Frances wished that Slytherin would win by points alone, but Harry would catch the snitch, though she never would have said it aloud.

Gryffindor seemed to be using that same play, so the game ended with Gryffindor winning 230 to 20. Frances was a bit chafed about it, but at least Malfoy had done absolutely nothing to benefit the team.

After the match, exams came up quickly. Everyone seemed to be studying nonstop. The common room was abuzz with activity. It was normal to walk down in the morning for breakfast to find one or two people passed out at one of the tables, head in a book.

Frances was often that person, especially since much of her time was devoted to tutoring many of the third years in Potions, since she was so far ahead of everyone else. Pansy drilled Frances, Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco in History of Magic, not letting anyone rest until they could get through fifty questions without a wrong answer. For his part, Draco was actually relatively helpful for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Despite the mutual animosity between him and Frances, they still spent a lot of time helping one another through studying, often up much later than anyone else. They didn’t talk about anything but schoolwork, very careful to dance around any subject that wasn’t what they were studying.

Both of them seemed to sense that they were about one misplaced dig away from one of them cursing the other. On the day of their last exam, Frances only had Defense Against the Dark Arts. She finished it rather quickly, leaving at the same time as Draco. They both avoided one another, walking in opposite directions the moment they left the classroom. Frances didn’t even have a reason to head that way, she just was entirely unwilling to be around him now that they had nothing to talk about.

That day Buckbeak was supposed to be executed, and the truce that Draco and her had formed over the past month threatened to break at any moment. Frances went to the common room, waiting for Pansy to get back from the Divination exam. She decided to catch up on some much needed sleep. Besides studying for all of her normal classes, Frances had taken the Potions O.W.L. the day before.

She’d spent all night in the library with Fred, George, and Angelina Johnson. At one point Angelina had burst into tears loudly then fallen asleep snoring under the table. The three of them joked about her, but all silently wished that they could do the same. With the amount that they had to learn, they all felt like Snape was trying to run them into the ground. They stumbled out of Potions the next day like they’d just been stunned several times. George looked like he was about to pass out, and he probably was. The fumes from the practical assessment were noxious and threatened to make everyone faint if they breathed too heavily. The four made a truce to not discuss the exam afterwards, feeling like it would be too pointless and stressful to bother.

She was roused at about five in the afternoon by Pansy, who wanted to go to the Great Hall and see if there was any food set out. There was a bit out, probably sent up by some house elves who sensed the general mood of stress and discomfort in the student body that particular day.

She picked apart an apple danish while Pansy ran through the complexities of the exam. It wasn’t that Frances didn’t care about what Pansy had to say, she just wasn’t invested in the details of an exam she didn’t have to take. She was staring out of the doors of the Great Hall when she saw Draco dash past, hand pressed against his face. _Weird_ , she thought, but she didn’t rush after him as she would have done if they were speaking. _And serves him right, today of all days._

But she found herself wondering, as Pansy prattled on, what had happened to him.

They continued with their dinner unhurriedly as students half-dazed from exams ate and left around them. After about two hours elapsed, Pansy announced she was going to go take a bath. Frances made to follow her down to the dungeons, then realized she had no particular desire to sit in the common room. In fact, she was feeling rather restless after sitting for so long.

Instead she wandered around the castle. It was very quiet that evening. With exams done, it seemed most students were in their common rooms or in the Great Hall, so only the thoroughfares between these places were busy.

Frances tactfully avoided making contact with anyone, slipping into shadowy halls whenever she heard footsteps approaching. While wandering slowly through a fourth floor hallway, Frances heard the giggles of Lavender Brown and Pavarti Patil, who were always too much for her taste. A little panicked to get out of their eyesight before they turned the corner, Frances ducked into an empty classroom on her right, mentally patting herself on the back for moving so quickly.

She stopped her self-congratulation short however, seeing Draco sunken down on the wall opposite her, head in his hands. He lifted his head to her sharply as she gently closed the heavy wooden door behind her. His brow furrowed when he saw who it was in the dim light.

“You,” he growled. Frances was half expecting him to whip out his wand and shoot a curse at her. When he just put his head back in his clasped hands she was pleasantly surprised, and she walked forward to sit on top of one of the heavy wooden desks that were placed haphazardly about the room.

“I thought you would be in a better mood considering the events of tonight,” she mused.

He cracked his fingers, one grey eye peering through. “They didn’t kill it.”’

Frances smiled excitedly and jabbed, “Are you hiding in here because you found some way to botch that too?”

“Oh, piss off!” he hissed.

She through her arms up in playful exasperation. “What, can you blame me for being happy? You spend a year acting like an ass for absolutely no payoff, how does that feel?”

He pulled his hands away from his face, and through a stripe of moonlight from the paned window, she could see a dark red mark forming just below his right eye. Forgetting the amount of mutual hatred they were feeling in the moment, she hopped off the desk to examine his bruise.

Draco flinched from her touch as she reached to press just below it. He slapped her hands away. “I told you to leave me alone.”

Frances ignored him and felt with her thumb the little raised area that surely was hurting him a great deal. His right hand clasped around her wrist, but he didn’t squeeze it or rip it away from him. It was a warning that if she went too far, he would.

“What happened?” Frances asked. He had his head rested back on the stone wall, turned slightly to his right to look at her clearly, his legs extended in front of him tiredly. She kneeled with one leg under her, the right pulled up to her chest, perched carefully to examine him.

His right hand relaxed a bit around her, but didn’t let her wrist go, even after she let it fall from his face.

“Granger, she punched me.”

Frances stifled a laugh, but she knew he still saw it in her face.  

“Don’t laugh at me, everyone else already has. I expect the whole castle knows by now, I know those three prats wouldn’t be able to stop themselves from talking about it, not that they’d want to.”

Frances shook her head, shifting to sit cross-legged on the cold floor. Draco was still holding onto her wrist. “No one was saying anything about you, and I haven’t seen any of them since this morning.”

Draco looked slightly relieved, but then his expression turned dark again. “They should tell the whole school, though. It would make them look great, and make me look like an ass.”

Frances chuckled, “Come on, don’t tell me you’re getting soft on me.”

He gave her a withering glare, “I already feel stupid, don’t make it worse, Frances.”

“Well you deserve to feel stupid, you’ve _been_ stupid.”

“I know!” Draco burst out loudly, right hand releasing Frances to throw his hands up. “Of course I know I’ve been stupid. I knew that as soon as that big ugly beast slashed me, that’s why I did all of this. I wanted to escape with some shred of my dignity.”

“That’s a piss poor excuse, Draco. Trying to get an innocent animal killed because your ego is bruised. Besides, don’t you think we all knew you were embarrassed? What happened was embarrassing, and no one has a more fragile ego than you.”

He looked murderous. “Don’t call me fragile.”

“Don’t act like it,” Frances retorted with an equally deadly tone.

He dropped his gaze from hers, pulling his knees to his chest and hugging them tightly. “It’s just,” he began, “When I started this, I didn’t know what would happen because of it. I didn’t know that you would stop being friends with me. I guess, I guess I should have realized that’s exactly what you’d do, but I was being impulsive. And once I’d told Father, I wasn’t going to back off.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. Your father seems to be a big fan of choosing his battles. He renounced You-Know-Who pretty soon after he disappeared.”

Draco didn’t respond, furrowing his brow into a face of deep concentration.

“What, am I wrong?” Frances asked impatiently. He still didn’t respond, so she took his right arm and pulled it into her lap, turning it over so his palm faced up. They were heavily marked and calloused from the endless hours of quidditch practice he’d been enduring since the term began. Draco still wore the same ring that he’d given her a year and a half ago. She’d felt it burn often that year, but she couldn’t ask about what had caused him distress though she wanted to so badly. Frances had even felt it burn in the Great Hall shortly before she saw Draco rush by.

“No, you’re right about that. Can you promise me you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you?” He asked quietly, grabbing her hand in his own two urgently. Frances nodded gravely. Draco breathed in like a man with a hand around his throat. “My father, he was the one that gave Ginny Weasley the diary. He slipped it into her cauldron at Flourish and Blotts at the start of term last year.”

Frances jaw dropped, barely able to comprehend what he said. She’d known that Lucius Malfoy was a former Death Eater, but she’d never imagined that he would still be actively trying to kill muggleborns even after all these years out from under the thumb of You-Know-Who.

“Is You-Know-Who back? Did he ask your father to do this?”

Draco shook his head. “That’s the worst part. He actually asked my father to do it years ago, when the war was still happening, that’s why he had the diary in the first place. But my father just wanted to do it now of his own accord, he thought he could purge Hogwarts of all muggleborns and get Dumbledore fired in one fell swoop. After he failed, Dumbledore couldn’t prove he’d done it, but they found other reasons to sack him as a governor. My father is a Death Eater because he hates muggleborns, not because he loves You-Know-Who”

“That’s disgusting,” Frances said, in horror.

Draco nodded, “I’ve been having some thoughts about it too, lately. You could’ve died, it was sheer luck that you didn’t, actually. And to top it all off I couldn’t even talk to you about it this whole year because of this situation.” He looked as if he were about to cry, and Frances suddenly felt very sad for him. Of course, everything he’d done up to this point was stupid and selfish, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t very obviously in pain.

She went with her gut, and wrapped him in an embrace, pulling his head down to cradle it gently in her arm. It struck her as strange, how often they went from outright shouting to holding each other. Maybe Pansy had a point, she’d stuck with him far longer than she should have. What could be keeping her there if she didn’t like him. She never would have put up with all of the blood purity nonsense and the constant fighting if there wasn’t something larger. And there was the other thing Pansy had said, that he felt the same way. He wouldn’t have put up with all of the fighting either if he didn’t like her back.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by the feeling of cold tears dripping down her wrists. Draco was crying, no, not crying. Draco was sobbing, chest heaving and snot running from his nose.

Frances had never seen this, never seen him so vulnerable. She had to stop herself from making a derisive comment, so used to the animosity they’d shared for the past year. Instead, Frances just held him until he stopped crying, sitting up and wiping his nose on his sleeve. He looked terrible, and she could sense how uncomfortable he was. She knew she had to watch what she said to him, as he would likely be even more fragile than he usually was.

“Do you want to go back to the common room?” Frances asked, her voice practically a whisper. He shook his head, but got up anyway, his knees cracking loudly from sitting so long in one position. Draco looked like he was going to start for the door, his face already draining of the color he’d gotten while he wept, but instead he moved suddenly and quickly towards Frances.

Instinctually, she put her hands up, resting them on his chest as he pressed his lips against her cheekbone. His face was still wet, and she felt heat radiating off of him.

She knew she could push him away from her whenever she pleased, but instead she just left her hands on his chest. One of his hands was on her upper arm, the other wrapped around her back. He wasn’t trapping her, he was just wrapping her in an embrace, similar to what she had done for him earlier.

Draco pulled away, but not so much that their noses weren’t practically touching. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. She scarcely heard it, but somehow she felt he meant it. No, she knew how she was feeling it. She was in his mind.

Frances saw herself through Draco’s memories. She saw the looks of anger and hatred that she had been giving him the past nine months, the furrowed brow and the corners of her mouth pulled back in disgust. She felt the familiar sharp stab of pain in her chest that she’d experienced when he’d given her those same looks. It never crossed her mind that he had felt the same way.

This was strange however. How was she seeing inside his mind? Frances had spent the whole year doing her very best to try to get in, but there had always been some kind of block on him, something large and amorphous that seemed to occupy his brain, obscuring her sight into his memories and feelings.

Frances had originally assumed that it was because she felt no empathy for him anymore, but that wasn’t true. There was a reason she felt his absence like the loss of a limb. There was a reason that when she had been helping him with his potions before exams, she had cracked a smile at his joy when he finally figured how to properly reduce a Sleeping Draught. No, she had never stopped empathizing with him.

She had no idea what it was though, since she had gotten rather good at accessing people’s minds. Frances had even managed to get into Hermione’s memories one particularly sad day at the library, around the time Ron and Harry were shunning her for the Firebolt.

Frances had felt dirty doing that though, and had tried to use the information she’d gathered to comfort Hermione, telling her that they were being childish, and they’d be back to normal very soon. Lucky for Frances, her assumption had been right.

But no, this thing with Draco was different. That big grey blob in his mind was gone, replaced by clear emotion and memory. Suddenly, it came to Frances why she was just now looking in. It was because he was letting her. In the books she’d read about Legilimency, there’d always been plenty of talk about Occlumency. Frances had never been able to practice it though, because she knew no one else other than Snape that could perform Legilimency.

“Y-you can do Occlumency?” Frances asked, stunned.

He nodded, his body still pressed against her. “My parents taught me very young, they told me that I would need it someday. I thought they were full of it, but I didn’t know then that I’d have someone try to break into my mind everyday for a year,” he joked.

“I didn’t know you could tell, but I guess that explains why I never saw anything. Why are you letting me in now?”

Draco rested his forehead against hers, and whispered, “Because I trust you.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting! Shout out to Melyaliz for your nice comments, they literally got me through finals. As always, comments and kudos mean the world!


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